Peter
by Scaleface
Summary: The arrival of an introverted widow and her shy daughter in the town sparks gossip amongst the ladies of Cranford. Miss Matty Jenkyns soon worries her brother's relationship with the quiet girl is inappropriate. Love story across age gap. Painful angst, friendship, adventure and romance. (Adult Content)
1. Prologue

Author's Note: please accept apologies for inconsistencies in canon, I have not read Mrs Gaskell and I wrote this story four years ago after watching the Christmas episodes. I have not seen any Cranford since!

* * *

Prologue

"A woman and her daughter," Miss Matty told her friends with a warm smile.

"No husband?" Miss Pole said automatically, the suspicion already in her voice.

Mrs Forester smiled and looked at their hostess, she put her hand on her excitable friend's arm and said gently, "Widowed perhaps?" Miss Matty nodded.

"The husband died abroad, but there is a son who supports them both, I- I'm not sure where he is."

Miss Pole looked at Mrs Forester and raised her eyebrows in triumph; there was some intrigue at least if no scandal. "Tell us Miss Matty, what are they like?" the busybody pressed interestedly but their hostess shrugged a little and shook her head.

"I am only telling you what Mr Buxton has told me, I have not met them," she admitted, "it is his house to let, he who has seen them."

"You do not even know how old the daughter is?" Miss Tomkinson tilted her head and put down her cup and saucer.

"Oh," Miss Matty blushed, "she is young, but not as young as Miss Erminia." She clarified.

"Has Miss Erminia met them?" Miss Pole interjected.

"I- I am not sure," Matty admitted.

"In her twenties, her early twenties?" Mrs Forester guessed for the women in the group and once more Miss Matty nodded a noncommittal sort of nod.

"I think you should quiz Miss Erminia," Miss Pole said quickly, "the next time you are in their company you must take her aside and get us some more information. I do not want strangers living in Cranford."

Another voice, not yet heard came from the corner of the room where Miss Matty's brother Peter sat at his desk, he turned and looked at Miss Pole who sat puffed up grandly in the Jenkyns' parlour. "I do not think that it is Miss Erminia my sister goes to visit," he said dryly and Miss Pole deflated slightly and blushed, Peter smiled warmly at her in amusement. "Dear ladies, you need only wait two more days before you can see these strangers with your own eyes." He said to the room, "you know now that they are women, perhaps that will give you an idea as what you can take them as a gift to welcome them to our little community." He turned back to his writing and Matty felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, her brother did not know how to behave in England. It was bad enough that he persisted in staying in the room when her friends came to visit her, but to address them all and then just turn his back on them, it made her cringe!

"Then, Mr Jenkyns," Mrs Forester said calmly, "you have heard that they will be here on Saturday?"

The ladies exchanged excited glances and made excitable noises, Miss Pole cleared her throat and attempted to address Peter Jenkyns, "Maybe Mr Jenkyns could enlighten us on these people, a name perhaps?" she tried sweetly.

Peter did not turn, he looked down at the notice he had carefully and skilfully been writing out for the village store. He had not been able to write a whole word with his sister's gossip group in the room, but he had not left for the light was best in the parlour and he had told the mayor and his wife that they would have their decorative sign for the next morning. "Their name is Walker," he said resignedly, he turned and looked at his audience, "and I only know this because the Johnsons informed me, not that I had any interest in knowing," he stressed, "they obviously mistook me for one of you."

"What- what else did they say?" Miss Tomkinson asked eagerly.

"Nothing else to me," Peter said matter of factly, "I told them I didn't wish to pry."

Miss Pole stood up importantly, "Come," she said to her friends, "It is just past three, they will still be open. We will have our answers yet." Miss Tomkinson and Mrs Forester stood obediently and Peter stood and bowed his head as the ladies curtseyed and hurried from their front room. Matty followed them and showed them out. "Do you not wish to join us, Miss Matty?" Miss Pole said in affronted surprise.

"I- I think I will wait until Saturday, as Peter suggested." She smiled and nodded to her friends in thanks for the offer.

"Thank you for the tea, Miss Matty," Mrs Forester managed to say and Miss Tomkinson managed a nod in agreement before Miss Pole pulled them both away towards the centre of the village.

"Peter, you are so rude!" Matty said irritably to her brother who was happily concentrating on his work once more.

"They are busybodies," he said quietly and he smiled at his sister's fury while he carefully drew another perfect letter. "Let the Johnsons have them for half an hour."

"It is only natural that they are curious," Matty explained, "a new face is as exciting it gets for us," she smiled at her brother who still did not look up, "they have not had exciting lives like you."

"If they are so excited," Peter turned and looked at his sister, "then why do they protest so much at the idea of new neighbours?"

"That is just Miss Pole," Matty said shortly, "and you know she only says things like that because she likes to argue. She has always been like that."

"I remember," Peter raised an eyebrow and laughed a little. He looked up at his sister in earnest, "am I terrible, Matty?" he asked her honestly, "do I embarrass you awfully?" he stressed and she rolled her eyes as he began to exaggerate his phrases even further, "am I just the most wretched brother who ever lived?"

She shook her head in annoyance. "They are gone," she said finitely, "be happy you can finish your notice in peace." He smiled at her and she had to smile back even though she had been angry with him.

He had a way of making her smile, perhaps it was just that he was there, that he had returned after so many years abroad and now he sat at the desk by the window where he had sat as a young man painting his sisters' portraits and amusing them greatly with his storytelling. Even Deborah who had been a serious young woman had been reduced to giggles by the wild imagination of her younger brother, having Peter back in her house reminded Matty of her late sister and she no longer felt as though Deborah was quite so far away.


	2. Chapter 1: an Introduction

Chapter One: An Introduction

"I do like the pattern on this one, what do you think, Peter?" Miss Matty asked her brother as she stood in the village stores and looked at the new fabrics Mrs Johnson had ordered in from London.

"Yes, lovely," Peter said vacantly as he looked instead at the paintbrushes Mr Johnson had bought especially for him after the village's demand for finely executed notices seemed to have risen dramatically to the point that Peter almost had a title, _official sign-writer_. It didn't really have a ring to it, he'd have to work on that. Matty looked at him sensing his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Peter, you have to look," she stressed quietly, he apologised and looked down at the flowery pattern.

"Do you intend to wear it or decorate tables with it?" he asked.

"Peter!" she said in embarrassment that the shopkeepers would hear him, luckily the doorbell went and the incident was instantly forgotten.

"Such news, such news!" Miss Pole was saying excitedly under her breath, the doorbell sounded again and Miss Tomkinson and Mrs Forester followed as expected, "we have seen them," she stressed, to whoever was listening, which happened to be Miss Matty, her brother turned his attentions back to his brushes and asked Mr Johnson about ordering some coloured inks.

"The mother, so fine," Mrs Forester said and nodded in approval.

"And so well turned out," Miss Tomkinson added, Mrs Forester nodded in agreement and both looked at Miss Pole who fumed in anger.

"I am to tell Miss Matty," she stressed in high-pitched annoyance, she looked at Matty and ignored her followers, "the mother is a very fine looking woman," she said as though the other two had not already said the same, "the daughter," she stressed the word and her eyes widened as she shook her head, "oh what a shame," she said rather too loudly and Matty raised her hands to her mouth in shock.

"What, what is the matter with her?" she asked in concern.

"Nothing," Mrs Forester said quickly and reassuringly, she shook her head and smiled at Matty, "it is truly nothing," she said again.

"Nothing?" Miss Pole repeated in amazement, "her hair," she stressed, "it is white," she finished and she grimaced at Miss Matty.

"Only a small section of it," Miss Tomkinson said as Matty stood wondering what she should say.

"Is the mother's hair white?" Matty asked wondering- though she knew it was silly- with great interest just how big a section of white hair this young girl had.

Miss Pole shook her head slowly and again raised her eyebrows. "It is dark brown, natural," she said.

"Oh dear," Miss Matty said, "how unfortunate," she did not know what else to say, "but she is a pretty girl?" she asked.

Miss Pole shook her head, "oh, I would not know about that, Miss Matty," she said, "it is very hard to see if she is," she shrugged, "all one sees is the hair."

"I thought she was a pretty girl," Mrs Forester offered, "but we were not close enough."

"So you have not met them then?" Mrs Johnson the shopkeeper's wife spoke bluntly with a raised eyebrow, Miss Pole straightened up and looked over the counter at her rival.

"We merely saw them as we were on our way to your shop."

"On your way here?" Mrs Johnson smiled, "well then, what can I help you with ladies?" she smiled a little more and revealed a row of smug teeth.

"I need," Miss Pole's eyes darted around the shop not wanting to be outdone, "half a dozen eggs."

"Already?" Mr Johnson's ears pricked up and he moved to join his wife behind the counter, "Did the boy not deliver your goods this morning?" he asked in surprise.

"No," Miss Pole said quickly and she shook her head, "I mean, yes, he did." She realised she could not lie so obviously, "I am making a very large cake." She finished dramatically.

The doorbell went again and the ladies, so preoccupied with Miss Pole's argumentative nature, had not noticed the very newcomers they spoke of accompanied by Mr Buxton cross the road and enter the shop.

Miss Matty felt herself blush as she smiled at Mr Buxton; that had begun to happen to her lately. His attitudes had changed since he first returned to Cranford, she had watched him soften and grow as a person as he let his son marry for love and then leave his house with his bride for a different life in London. The old landowner was now only occupied by the company of his young ward, Erminia, who often invited Miss Matty to their grand house and took pleasure in seeing her guardian happy in conversation with the gentle spinster.

Matty looked at the floor in embarrassment at her blush but once again her behaviour went unnoticed by her friends as they had all turned interestedly towards the two ladies who stood in their presence.

Mr Buxton spoke, "Yes, I thought I would find you all in here," he said softly and he raised an eyebrow and smiled a little. "I would like to introduce you to my new tenants," he told them, "this is Mrs Walker and her daughter Miss Walker, I trust you ladies will make them most welcome." The two ladies curtseyed a little, the daughter more obviously so than the mother, who was by all accounts accurately grand. "Mr Johnson, our mayor and his wife," Mr Buxton politely introduced all of the people in the shop one by one, they were practically the entirety of Cranford so he felt obliged, and besides, Miss Matty Jenkyns was in the room and he wished to catch her eye again.

"Miss Tomkinson, Mrs Forester, Miss Pole," at her name the little spinster's eyes lit up and she curtseyed much more impressively than her friends had done which made Mr Buxton pause and make a short noise that might have been mistaken for a laugh, her cheeks shone red as she looked up at him but the impressive gentleman had already turned his gaze to his friend and he smiled at her, "Miss Matty Jenkyns and her brother, Mr Jenkyns." He did not look at Peter but kept his eyes on Matty.

"How do you do?" Miss Matty said politely as she nodded kindly to the Walkers, "we are thrilled to meet you both," she spoke for the group.

"Thank you, Miss Jenkyns," Mrs Walker said in a low voice, "and thank you, Mr Buxton," she turned to her landlord, "for the introductions." The ladies laughed a little and Mr Buxton smiled and bowed.

"I doubt you shall remember them all," Mr Johnson spoke and Mrs Walker smiled a little and nodded as the nervous villagers laughed again politely.

"Is there anything you need? Anything my husband and I can help you with?" Mrs Johnson piped up smelling an opportunity.

"Mr Buxton had kindly provided us with a few things," Mrs Walker said in thanks, "we shall not need anything at the moment, thank you."

"No doubt you have unpacking to do," Mr Buxton broke an uncomfortable silence and Mrs Walker and her daughter both nodded and smiled in thanks at the excuse to leave. "Let me escort you back to your new home."

"Thank you," Mrs Walker spoke and she turned a little before the daughter spoke at last.

"It was v-very lovely to meet you all," she said in a quiet voice and she smiled though her face was still towards the floor.

"Yes," Mrs Walker agreed and she smiled once more and bowed her head a little. The villagers too bowed their heads and Miss Walker spoke again as Mr Buxton held open the door first for the mother and then the daughter, "goodbye," she said to them and Miss Matty smiled back at her and also said "goodbye."

* * *

"They seemed nice," Peter said as he left the shop with his sister, he held in a brown envelope three paintbrushes that he had liked the feel of, his sister had left empty handed. They had all gone their separate ways without comment to each other on the newcomers, but Peter knew that his sister would- like the other ladies in the shop- want to talk about them now they were quite out of earshot.

"The poor girl," Matty said quietly and she shook her head sadly, "that hair is so unbecoming, I wonder why the mother has not made her dye it."

Peter shrugged, "I did not think it was bad," he admitted, "I thought it made her look very interesting!"

"Interesting!" Matty said in shock and she looked up at her brother, "Peter, it is most unbecoming, and with such a plain look too, I fear Miss Pole was right, you cannot find beauty there for the hair is all you see."

Peter scoffed, "It was barely a couple of inches," he said in amazement, "what must you think of my hair?" he joked but his sister did not laugh.

"I must make them something," she wondered what ingredients she had at home and what sort of cake or biscuit she could bake as a welcoming gift.

"Go back and buy that fabric and you can make her a bonnet if you are so put off by it," he joked and he laughed but she ignored him and continued to think of the state of the larder.

* * *

Miss Matty walked along the main road that ran through Cranford dressed in her Sunday best. She had seen her friends that morning in church and of course all of them had been hoping to see the new neighbours again, however they were not present. Matty supposed this was because they had only just moved to the town and they had a lot to attend to, she was on her way to their house now, she had got up early and prepared biscuit dough that she had cut into circles and stars on her return from church and baked in the oven. She had covered them in her basket and she wished to give them as a welcoming gift. She was very nervous, she always was among strangers but she had a feeling that they would accept her gift with good grace, they had seemed polite worldly ladies.

The house that the Walkers were renting from Mr Buxton was a small cottage very near to the village stores in the centre of Cranford, it was only a short walk from everything really, Miss Matty had barely walked eight houses from her own before she was there, she had allowed herself ten minutes and it had taken her just less than two, it was not twelve yet. She wondered nervously if it was too early for her to call but she pushed her silly frets to the back of her head and bravely walked to their garden gate and opened it.

Miss Walker, the daughter with the large streak of white hair opened the door to Matty and she smiled in surprise at seeing her.

"We met yesterday," Miss Matty said quietly.

"Yes, I remember," Miss Walker said quietly with a small smile, "you are Miss Jenkyns."

Matty blushed, "my, my late sister was Miss Jenkyns," she said quietly, "My friends call me Miss Matty," she informed the newcomer.

"Oh, I s-see," Miss Walker said and she still smiled, her mother's voice was heard from inside the house and she turned and held her hands in front of her as her mother came to the door. "It is Miss Matty Jenkyns," Miss Walker informed her mother.

"Miss Jenkyns, I see my daughter has not yet invited you in," Mrs Walker said rather shortly and the daughter blushed and stepped aside, she bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, please, d-do come in," she said softly and Matty smiled in thanks and entered the house.

"Thank you, Mrs Walker, Miss Walker, I will not stay," Matty said looking instead at the impressive woman dressed in black who smiled down at her, both mother and daughter were tall, taller than Miss Matty but the daughter was much less elegant with it than the mother who stood confident and calm. "I merely wished to welcome you to Cranford without the entire village looking on, as, as they were yesterday," Matty joked a little and the daughter smiled at her in appreciation. "I have baked you a little welcoming gift," she held out the basket.

"That is most kind of you Miss Jenkyns," Mrs Walker said and she looked at her daughter with a raised eyebrow and the girl took the basket gratefully.

"Yes, thank you, very much," she said in agreement and she opened her mouth to speak again, but she closed it as she looked up at her mother and blushed, 'I shall take these to the kitchen," she said to her mother.

"Thank you, Amelia," Mrs Walker said her daughter's name and Miss Matty's eyes lit up thankful for the piece of information.

"When you are settled you must both come to my house for tea," Miss Matty told Mrs Walker, "the ladies of the village are very excited that you have moved into this house and would love an opportunity to meet you in a less formal setting," she smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Jenkyns," Mrs Walker said again.

"I shall leave you to your unpacking," Matty said after a pause realising nothing else was going to be said. Mrs Walker smiled and opened the door for her and Matty said her goodbyes and heard the door close as she walked to the garden gate, as she reached it the door behind her opened again and Miss Amelia Walker rushed out to her.

"Oh, Miss Jenkyns, I have your basket and lace," she told her and tried to hand it to her, "thank you for the- for the biscuits, they smell wonderful."

"You have laid them out on a plate?" Matty asked looking down at her basket.

"Yes," Miss Walker said nervously, "I thought you might need this," she pressed the basket awkwardly into Matty's hands and she took it.

Matty smiled and blushed, she looked up at the tall girl, pale and lightly freckled, she could see in the sunlight that the rest of her hair was a chestnut colour but the large section on the top right side was as white as her own brother's hair. "Thank you my dear, that was very thoughtful," she said and Amelia Walker blushed pink and nodded silently before pushing the gate for the visitor and holding it open for her.

* * *

As Miss Matty sat in the carriage that took her to Mr Buxton's home she thought about the Walkers. It had been a week now since they had moved into the town and yet they had not accepted any invitations to tea or reciprocated the hospitality shown to them. Her friends had been, as she had, to take welcoming gifts, Mrs Forester's butter had been accepted gratefully as had Miss Tomkinson's lace and Miss Pole's milk- which coincidentally had also come from Miss Forester's cow, but this hadn't been mentioned. No one had anything new to report, no one had stayed to tea and though Mrs Walker had greeted them all gratefully all had found her quite cold and the daughter nervous and awkward. Miss Matty had been reminded of herself by the daughter and so she did not feel as strongly as Miss Pole who declared that Miss Amelia Walker needed lessons in politeness, Miss Matty thought that the girl would benefit greatly from some confidence but it must have been hard to be confident when she was burdened with the slight disfigurement of her shocking hair. Her hair of course had been covered in many conversations, why did she not dye it? She had not even been wearing a bonnet when she met them all the first time in the village stores, etc.

Matty did not feel snubbed, not personally anyway, for the whole town seemed to have been snubbed, so little was known about the neighbours that she could not help thinking that perhaps the two of them were grieving some great loss. She knew from the black she wore and from what Mr Buxton had told her that Mrs Walker was a widow but she did not know how recent that had happened. Perhaps that would account for the lack of enthusiasm to mix socially and it would account indeed for the premature white stripe in the daughter's hair.

Matty resigned herself not to be nosy, it was not her business and she would not ask Mr Buxton unless it came up in conversation. She was going to see her friends at their grand house for afternoon team it would be pleasant.

Erminia, the lively young thing was there to meet her at the gate. "Oh Miss Matty," she said excited under her breath as she practically pulled her from the carriage by the arm and they started to walk up the path to the house, "you shall never guess- we have another visitor, Mr Buxton seemed to think she would be company for me, but she is not interested at all in anything interesting!"

"Erminia, slow down!" Miss Matty told her as she could not understand a word the girl was saying.

"You must have seen her in the town, I mean, you cannot miss her," Erminia stressed with a flash of her eyes and a sly grin, "Miss Amelia Walker," she said her name, "the new girl, with the hair," she added.

"They are here? The Walkers accepted an invitation to tea?" Miss Matty said in what sounded a little like outrage but she had meant only shock.

"Just Miss Walker," Erminia corrected as they walked up the steps of the house, "The mother will not go anywhere," she rolled her eyes. "I just had to warn you in case you were expecting an entertaining afternoon."

"You are a terrible girl," Matty scolded but she was too fond of Erminia for her to take any offence or for Miss Matty to mean it. They entered the house together and Erminia pulled Miss Matty into the parlour where Mr Buxton sat with the other guest. He stood up and smiled at both women in what appeared to be relief Matty smiled at him and curtseyed a little.

"Miss Matty," he said her name also in relieved tones, "we were wondering where you had got to. You have met Miss Walker," he said and Matty smiled at the young guest who seemed paler than when she had last seen her.

"Hello, Miss Walker," she said kindly, "I am surprised -oh, and pleased to see you," she stumbled a little with her words and Amelia Walker who had also stood up bowed her head a little and smiled up at Matty, a genuine smile it was quite different to her mother's.

"I am glad to see you, Miss Jenkyns," she admitted, "I wished to thank you once again for the gift you gave to us, my mother and I enjoyed the biscuits very much."

"Oh, you are welcome," Matty said in surprise again.

"I thought Miss Amelia might benefit from some company her own age," Mr Buxton explained, "and so might Erminia," he joked and looked at his ward who smiled politely but did not look at Amelia.

* * *

"I'm just saying," Peter insisted, "that I do not think it is a good idea."

"She is a very nice girl and everyone is so desperate to meet her," Matty went on.

"From what you told me of this afternoon she is a very timid girl," Peter insisted still, "Are you sure she did not accept this invitation on the basis that she thought it would just be you Matilda?" Peter smiled, "because I can understand her very well if she wishes to be with you, a lovely kind old thing, but half a dozen of your nosy neighbours!" he scoffed, "the girl will sit there petrified!"

"I still believe that it was Miss Erminia's boisterous attitude that put Miss Walker in an uneasy state."

"And you do not think that Miss Pole's attitude might put her in a similar position?"

"I think it is important that they all see that she is a nice girl and that it is not personal that her mother has not accepted any invitations. Miss Walker will explain to them that her mother is a solitary woman with much on her mind."

"Why can you not explain that to them?" Peter asked sympathetically.

"Because they will be jealous of me if I am to entertain Miss Walker and they are not." Matty finished. "It is arranged, Peter, I have already told Miss Pole."

Peter sighed and wondered why he'd even bothered arguing. He decided he would make himself scarce the next morning, he did not wish to view the girl's discomfort at the ladies of Cranford's take on the Spanish Inquisition.


	3. Chapter 2: Amelia

Chapter Two: Amelia

Miss Matty had issued the invitation to Amelia Walker to take tea in her home as they had shared Mr Buxton's carriage on the way home from visiting the land owner and his ward. It seemed Amelia had walked with Erminia the journey to their fine home from the village earlier that afternoon but looked quite relieved to be sharing the carriage back with Miss Matty.

Erminia had whispered to Matty earlier in the day that despite Amelia being young she was quite boring, Matty did not understand at first because it seemed that the girls had a great deal in common, for one they both seemed interested in the world, something so vast and terrifying that Miss Matty herself had never dared to show interest in.

It was just that they seemed to enthuse in vastly different areas of their common interest. Erminia Whyte was a lovely girl and very intelligent, she spoke French and German quite perfectly and she longed to explore the real world if only Mr Buxton would let her, of course, being Mr Buxton's ward and the daughter of his late sister-in-law she lived in a realm where she was protected by him to the point of being a tiny bit spoiled. Her main interests in travelling the world consisted of the pursuits of fine fashion, beautiful jewellery and interesting young men.

Amelia Walker on the other hand, though still a stranger to all at the party was clearly like Erminia; intelligent, she too spoke several languages, but she was not so much interested in travelling but the history of different cultures and their place on the map of literature, in other words, Amelia was bookish.

Miss Matty supposed it was because Amelia did not have Erminia's beauty or youth that such things were not of interest to her, in reality Amelia was only three years older than Erminia but she seemed to have an old soul and Matty found herself reminded of listening to her brother talk when Amelia had spoken keenly about her interests. And that hadn't happened often over the three hours that they had been talking, it had happened only on two occasions when the girl had been brave enough to speak and encouraged by Miss Matty- for she seemed almost frightened of Mr Buxton when he spoke to her and Erminia's class had shown throughout the time they were forced to share together; she had not disguised her boredom very well at all… Amelia Walker had been shy and quiet but when she had spoken to Miss Matty she had shone a little and her statements were not those of a young girl who wanted always to be quiet and submissive, they were passionate insights from a girl who obviously wanted to talk.

And so in the carriage Miss Matty had joked softly about Erminia to try and make Amelia feel more comfortable, she had explained that the other girl was so desperate to travel that she did not understand why anyone would not want to. She had told Amelia that she herself had always been in Cranford and that she was quite content living through her brother's adventures, which she was sure that Amelia must do too through her brother's letters. And the girl had been so much more at ease with Miss Matty in the carriage than she had been throughout the entire afternoon she had spent as Mr Buxton's guest. She did not speak much still but she smiled and she laughed at Miss Matty's jokes and she apologised for the way she and her mother had not invited anyone to their home. She had explained that her mother was grieving and she had never felt comfortable entertaining. So Matty had invited her to tea the next day and she had accepted after first protesting that she did not want to be seen as charity and that she was happy as her mother's companion.

* * *

"Are you to be this girl's friend then?" Mrs Walker asked her daughter when Amelia had brought her a cup of tea.

"I do not think so," Amelia admitted as she sat down on the hard chair opposite the sofa her mother sat on, "we are too different."

"Well, I won't say that is a shame," Mrs Walker said quietly, stirring her tea, "I think you have a lot to be getting on with here."

"I- I think I did make a friend of Miss Jenkyns though, the- the lady who brought us the spiced biscuits," she added. "She is a very nice person."

Mrs Walker raised her eyebrows, "you are making friends with the spinsters and widows of Cranford?" She asked in surprise, "I suppose I can't disapprove of that," she laughed a little, "Just don't invite them all here," she added, "I- I don't think I could bear it."

"Of course not, mother," she said quickly, "I wouldn't."

"Yes, I do not want anything but peace here, do you understand Amelia?"

"I-I feel the same, mother," she assured her and she drank her own tea thoughtfully.

* * *

Amelia Walker looked into her mirror and pinned up her hair carefully, it seemed even the old women of Cranford did not have white hair, at least none who had come to the house to welcome Amelia and her mother to the village. Mr Buxton, the man whose house they rented and the man who had invited her to meet his pretty young ward had not even had that many white hairs, it was all grey and he had a dark beard, how old must he have been? Sixty? Older perhaps. Amelia found herself a terrible judge of age but she supposed it was for the best because it wasn't polite to guess people's ages and it was not important anyway. She had gone to Mr Buxton's house the day before to meet a girl her own age as there seemed to be none about and no young men either, but the girl had been too different to Amelia for them to become friends, instead it was the old woman who she had befriended and Amelia was very grateful for that. It was then she had decided that age didn't matter a bit for she found herself very desperate to become friends with Miss Matty Jenkyns. Of all the women who had come to their house it was Miss Matty who had been most obviously kind and selfless, she was not like the others, she was not simply interested in seeing inside their house or learning their past as the other women had tried to do. Amelia had regretted giving Miss Matty back her basket so quickly on the day she had called on them, retrospectively she wished she had had the excuse to return it and so talk to her again.

She did not mind that she was living alone with her mother, it was the way it had been for the last ten years, but it was the fact that they were no longer isolated, they were in a community and yet her mother still wished them to be as isolated as when they had lived in the country having barely one caller a week.

She had been hopeful about Erminia, she had never had a friend her own age and she had even tired to enthuse about clothes and ribbons or whatever else it was that the girl had wished to talk about but after an hour in her company she found herself wishing that she did still live in the old family house away from other people! But Miss Matty was different, she was sweet and kind and Amelia felt different when she was with her, it was strange to her to want to be friends with her when she had felt so differently before moving to Cranford. Only a fortnight previously Amelia would have been content never to speak to anyone again, but it was strange how nice people could change your attitudes.

She looked at her reflection and thought it would have to do, she would never have nice hair like Erminia's, not anymore, and she would not have Miss Matty's hair either, though it seemed to be turning grey with her age it was a golden grey that suggested she had had golden curls all her life. Amelia picked up the envelope that was on her dressing-table and walked down the stairs to her mother who sat in the parlour on the sofa reading a book, "Mother, I am going to Miss Jenkyns' house, like I told you last night," she said softly.

"I remember," her mother said simply and she looked up at her daughter, "mind your manners and don't speak too much," she said shortly and Amelia nodded and smiled.

"Thank you, mother," she left the room and then the house.

Amelia walked through the village slowly and looked around her with interest, she did not know why she had not noticed it all when she had arrived, she found herself thinking that she would like to walk through the entirety of it and even the areas around the village in the countryside. She felt rejuvenated suddenly and she smiled to herself amazed that she felt that way after only a week of living there. She remembered where Miss Matty Jenkyns lived and to her surprise it was much less of a walk than she expected and even while walking at a leisurely pace she was there in no time at all. She walked up the garden path and looked down at the envelope she had clutched in her hand, it was not much of a gift but it was the only thing she felt very confident about bringing. She knocked on the door and Miss Matty answered it, she beamed at the girl and Amelia smiled back at her.

"Hello, Miss Jenkyns," she said quietly, "I have made you this," Amelia stopped speaking as she came into the house and handed the envelope to her hostess, she could see in the doorway through to the parlour that Miss Matty's friends were all sat silently in a row with excited smiles on their faces, she was speechless. Matty took the envelope from her hand and opened it, there was a card inside with a delicate watercolour flower painted on the front, it was a violet.

"Miss Amelia, it is lovely, thank you," she said as she looked at the painting, "look at what she has painted," she turned and showed her friends. They all made sounds of approval and smiled up at Amelia who stood in the doorway and held her hands in front of her uncomfortably. "You remember these ladies, do you not, Miss Amelia?" Matty said gently and she touched Amelia's arm and pulled her a little into the room, the girl nodded and blushed.

"Yes, of course, how n-nice to see you all again," she said at last, "and I must thank you all for the welcoming gifts you brought to my mother and myself, thank you," she stressed, "it was so kind of you."

"You're welcome, dear," Mrs Forester spoke and she stood up and took Amelia's hands and led her into the room, "come and sit down," she said kindly and Amelia found herself sitting in between Mrs Forester and Miss Tomkinson on Miss Matty's sofa. She smiled at them all and wished she had stayed at home.

"Miss Amelia was telling me yesterday," Matty started as she poured a cup of tea for Amelia and gave it to her, "that she and her mother have never lived in a village or a town, that they are not used to a community."

The others looked at the girl expectantly and Amelia nodded. "We lived in a house in the country," she said quickly, "we are used to being alone."

"Do you like it here in Cranford?" Mrs Forester asked her with a smile and Amelia nodded again.

"Oh yes, I do," she said, "it is very different- but in ever such a nice way," she stressed.

"And your mother?" Miss Pole spoke at last. It was this little red faced woman whom Amelia had been most terrified of, it was her who had asked such obviously prying questions in their home when she delivered her gift of a pint of milk. She had not felt comfortable answering such questions.

"She is adapting, in her own way," Amelia tried, "she does like the quiet but I thought a small village would be good for her."

"So that when you are married and away from her she will have friends around her," Miss Tomkinson said with a knowing smile, but Amelia's shocked face spoke more than any words and she blushed and shrugged, speechless.

"Miss Amelia speaks four languages," Matty said impressively, changing the subject as she sat down. The others gasped a little and whispered phrases like 'how clever'.

"Do you wish to have opportunity to use them?" Miss Pole said haughtily.

"I do not know if I wish to travel so much," Amelia said quietly, "but I do use them, I am able to read books that have not been published here in England."

"Do you read Dickens?" Miss Tomkinson said excitably.

"I have done," Amelia smiled at her, "but I find that he is a little too sentimental sometimes. Did you read his Christmas Carol?" She smiled a little more and her teeth shone through her lips.

"Oh, I found it much too frightening to read at night times!" Miss Tomkinson giggled and so did Amelia. Miss Pole seemed to clear her throat again and Amelia looked at her from behind her teacup.

"Miss Matty tells us your brother lives in India," she changed the subject abruptly, modern literature was not one of her interests.

Amelia nodded quickly, "he left with my father when he was only twelve, this- that was ten years ago."

"And he is successful?"

Miss Matty shot her gossipy friend a glance, she was being rude because she believed she had age and wisdom over their guest. "He supports us," Amelia answered.

"You do not wish to join him in India, make use of your languages?"

"I- I did wish to once." Amelia swallowed and looked down at her cup of tea in her lap, "But I believe mostly everyone in India speaks English," she said quietly, "so there would be no call for my French, German or Russian."

Mrs Forester laughed a little and Matty once again steered the subject away from too personal things.

Amelia took tea with the ladies of Cranford and she coped very well, she did not enjoy it all, but Mrs Forester was very kind and she kept her companion Miss Pole under control a little by holding her arm and squeezing it when she made too personal a comment. Miss Tomkinson was a preoccupied sort of woman who it transpired seemed to have only read one book rather than a collective of Dickens' work. Miss Matty stayed Amelia's firm favourite as she only spoke warmly of everyone and she was a good host. After twenty minutes of small talk Miss Pole and her two followers seemed to decide that was enough and they announced their departure, well, Miss Pole announced their departure and the others agreed with her reasoning though they looked surprised to find they all had an appointment to make sure Mrs Forester's cow was all right in the cold weather.

Amelia wondered whether she too should go, but twenty minutes hardly seemed like a long time, she let Miss Matty see her friends out before she stood up and looked at her hostess. "Can I help you clear these away?" She offered and she picked up the cups and saucers that were left on the side tables.

"Oh, you are not going too, are you, Miss Amelia?" Matty sounded disappointed.

"Oh," Amelia blushed, "I will stay if you want me to- I, I was not sure," she smiled a little.

"Do stay," Matty insisted.

Amelia nodded, "but first I will help you to clean these."

Miss Matty showed her the way and held the door open as Amelia carried the tea tray through to the Jenkyns' kitchen. "Thank you, Amelia, that is most kind of you."

"I will wash them too," she insisted.

"No, no, what sort of hostess am I if you do all the clearing up?" Matty said in high-pitched shock. And she watched Amelia begin to wash her cups in the basin at the sink, the girl looked up at her and smiled.

"You are the perfect hostess," she said, "but I feel most at home when I am washing, trust me," she grinned a little, "I will let you clean my cup when I am gone," she tried in compromise.

"You mustn't tell your mother you were washing up," Matty took the clean cups and saucers one at a time and dried them as Amelia cleaned them, "she will never let you visit again."

"I promise I won't tell her. There," she said with a smile, "hardly any time at all."

"You are a good girl," Matty said gently, "now tell me how it is you come to paint so prettily." Amelia followed Miss Matty back into the parlour and the girl stood awkwardly as she watched Miss Matty rearrange the furniture, when she was done they both sat on the sofa together and Matty poured them both more tea from the pot.

When they were comfortable and Miss Matty about to begin talking about Amelia's card she suddenly sighed in annoyance at hearing footsteps on the stairs, "oh, excuse me, Miss Amelia, but this is typical of him," she said under her breath.

"All gone are they?" Peter said as he walked down the stairs and into the parlour, "oh," he said in surprise as he looked from the young woman to the angry face of his sister. "Forgive me, I- I meant your other friends, Matty," he said quickly but it was not much of a save.

Matty stood up and looked at her brother furiously, "Peter, you remember Miss Amelia Walker," she said through slightly gritted teeth and Peter bowed his head to their guest.

"Yes of course, I'm sorry, Miss Walker, how nice to see you." Amelia stood up to curtsey but Peter put out his hands and shook his head which startled her a little, "No, no don't get up," he told her, "I'll make myself scarce."

"Peter, you- you don't need to," Matty sighed a little and then she looked at Amelia who was still half sitting half standing, she moved to the girl and touched her shoulder, pushed her back down on the sofa, "you should come and speak to Miss Amelia," she said to her brother, "I think the two of you would get on. You see she has painted us this little picture." Matty moved to the mantel where she had displayed Amelia's card and she picked it up and handed it to Peter who moved around the sofa to join them properly.

"Oh I say," he said in an impressed tone, "that's really lovely," he told her and he smiled down at the girl. Amelia looked down at the floor and blushed.

"Yes, Miss Amelia was about to tell me about her painting when you so rudely interrupted us," Matty joked a little and Peter put the card back on the mantelpiece.

"I- I really w-wasn't," Amelia tired to say but she stammered a little.

"Peter used to paint when he was younger," Matty told Amelia and she picked up the small portraits that stood by the clock on the mantel and she handed them down to the girl, "he painted these of my sister and myself a long time ago."

Amelia looked down at the miniature portraits and then up at Miss Matty, "You haven't changed," she managed to say and she looked back down at the girl with golden ringlets and the serious face of the dark haired girl.

"Peter, I will fetch you a cup and saucer," Miss Matty told him and he sat down in the chair opposite Amelia and smiled at her while his sister disappeared.

"Do you paint portraits?" he asked her while she looked interestedly at the paintings she held. She looked up at him and shook her head.

"I- I sketch," she admitted, "but no. No, I have never painted a p-portrait."

"Just flowers then, still life?" he smiled.

She nodded again and she stood up and put the portraits back on the mantelpiece. There was another portrait in a frame behind the ones she held, she picked it up and looked at it, "this is you," she said quietly and looked at the painting of the young man.

"I _have_ changed," Peter stressed with a laugh and Amelia continued to look at the painting and then she looked down at him and she shook her head.

"No, you haven't," she looked at the picture a little longer but put it back and sat down as Matty re-entered the room.

"Peter has returned to us just this last year," Matty told her guest, "he was in India travelling in his youth." She poured another cup of tea and walked to Peter, she handed it to him and said, "Miss Amelia's brother is in India."

"Oh yes," he said remembering what she had told him before, "whereabouts?" he asked Amelia interestedly. "Has he been there long, maybe I met him before I left," he smiled.

"He has been there ten years," Amelia said again, "In Bengal."

"Cotton man, eh?" Peter smiled, "you'll be looked after," he drank his tea and Amelia nodded a little but hid once more behind her own teacup. "No, I haven't been in Calcutta for a long time," Peter started, "the last ten years I thought I'd better get on with seeing the rest of India- the real India so to speak."

"Oh, here's something that might interest you, Amelia," Matty said quickly, sensing she did not want to hear about her brother's adventures quite so soon after meeting him, "Peter is reading a French book at the moment. Amelia reads French and Russian- and German was it?" Matty looked down at her guest who nodded.

"Really?" Peter said with interest, "I am reading Hugo have you read him?"

Amelia nodded, "yes I have," she could not hide the excitement in her voice and she blushed, she had never met anyone who had read anything in another language let alone someone who had read the same books as her. "I have read his Last Day of a Condemned Man," she said quietly, "I- I find French literature far more real than anything England has to offer."

"Yes, so do I," Peter said in agreement, "Whatever you do, Miss Amelia, you mustn't read Russian plays, they are almost too real to bare." He laughed and Amelia did not know what to say she smiled a little but he stopped laughing and said, "Oh, I suppose you will have to read at least one before you find that amusing."

"Yes, I suppose so," Miss Matty answered for both of them and she shot her brother another glance.

"I have read the Condemned Man," Peter told her, "did you find it easy to read?" he asked her.

"I did- that is to say," Amelia stumbled, "I found it easy to translate, but- but not so easy to swallow."

"Yes," he agreed. He looked at his sister who sat like a little painted doll on the right hand side of the educated girl, "It is not a book for you, Miss Matty," he told her affectionately. "We will continue to talk cryptically so as not to offend you."

"Offend me?" Matty said in surprise and she smiled, "what is this book about?"

"It is the diary of a man who is to be put to death," Peter told her.

"Oh my," Miss Matty's eyebrows furrowed, "And you have read this book, Miss Amelia?"

Amelia nodded, "It is a book that speaks things that people do not wish to speak of. But are- are none the less there."

"And," Miss Matty paused, "the Dickens you spoke of earlier with Miss Tomkinson? The Christmas one?" she asked hopefully.

Peter laughed again and he raised an eyebrow, "Oh you would probably be more terrified of that one, little Matty," he grinned.

"M-maybe that is enough," Amelia said quietly to Mr Jenkyns.

"Oh, I would love to hear what you thought of it, I am reading his latest," he went on, "it is truly a masterpiece, Miss Amelia."

"What is it called?" Amelia couldn't help herself.

"Oh," Peter looked at his sister, "It is called Notre Dame de Paris."

"The cathedral?" Amelia said also looking at Matty. "It is a religious work?"

"Of course, in a way," Peter nodded, "but it is not at all what you would think, his main character c'est un bossu." He said mysteriously so that his sister would not understand Amelia's eyes widened with interest.

"Really?" she asked and Peter nodded.

"What, what is that?" Miss Matty asked after Amelia's reaction.

"Nothing," Amelia said quickly. "It is perhaps not a conversation for tea after all," she looked at Miss Matty in apology for being secretive but she could see the silver haired man smile out of the corner of her eye and she felt the corners of her mouth itch a little and she wanted to smile too. She blushed terribly and touched her face with the back of her hand nervously.

"Well, I hope it wasn't too rude," Miss Matty said quietly looking at her guest she glanced at Peter who still smiled. "If you continue to talk in French, Peter, her mother won't let her come here at all."

"All right then, I will change the subject," Peter suggested and he straightened up in his seat. "English poetry, then," he said in a serious voice, "Miss Matty likes Keats."

"Oh," Amelia smiled at Matty, "I like Keats," she agreed and nodded.

"I like the poems about nature," Matty smiled. Amelia nodded again in agreement.

"You like the romantics?" Peter's eyebrows rose as he quizzed their visitor.

"I- I like it when poets are romantic about nature," Amelia stressed. "I do not like much of this modern poetry."

"I agree, Miss Amelia," Matty said quickly, "being romantic about nature is something everyone can understand, I feel like I am intruding when I read a- a _love_ poem," she said quietly.

"There are some poems you have to grow into," Peter said reassuringly to the ladies.

"There are some poems you wish that you did not understand," Amelia looked at her cup and saucer in her hands.

"Here, Miss Amelia, can I pour you some more tea?" Matty noticed her looking down at the empty cup, she looked up and smiled in thanks. "Did you paint that violet from life or from memory?" she asked gently.

"I did it from a flower in the garden," Amelia said softly, "I do not think I could paint from memory, that takes some great skill."

"If you ever need inks or paintbrushes you must come here and tell us, Peter can order them for you for a very good price. He writes out all the notices for the Johnsons' front window, he has a very fine hand."

"Thank you," Amelia said politely, "I think I have been using the same materials for quite some time now."

"The colours are still vibrant," Matty assured her as she looked admiringly up at the little painted card.

* * *

Amelia returned home that afternoon and she told her mother that she had spoken to the women who had given them housewarming gifts and that she had thanked them again, she also told her that she had met Miss Jenkyns' brother again and that he had been hiding himself upstairs for the majority of the visit. She did not feel like she had to tell her mother that she had discussed literature with Mr Jenkyns because for one her mother was not interested in literature, secondly she wasn't sure how her mother would react to the news that her daughter was reading French books about morality. She also chose not to tell her mother that Mr Jenkyns had lived in India for most of his life, Amelia did not wish her mother to become upset.

She cooked their dinner as she did each night and she cleaned and tidied up while her mother rested in the parlour. She felt happier for her visit to the Jenkyns' home, she still intended to go for a walk the next day or explore the little village further, it had not changed her attitude of the morning despite it being not exactly as she'd pictured it.

The three friends of Miss Matty had been unnerving at first but she had a feeling that like most people who met her they had already lost interest for they had only stayed in her presence for twenty minutes before their curiosities had been satisfied. Miss Matty she hoped still liked her, that was the feeling she got from the woman, after all she had told her she was welcome to drop around if she pleased, and Amelia did please. She did hope however that Miss Matty and herself would be allowed to be alone in the future.

She did not dislike Mr Jenkyns, not at all, for they seemed to share a great many interests, but she was still not comfortable with talking to him like that. She knew it was stupid, but she did not feel comfortable around men. It had been the same the day before with Mr Buxton.

There had been a moment when Erminia left her with him and though he was an old man and a kind man Amelia had felt uncomfortable and she could not look at him. Things would have been different she knew if she had not led such a sheltered life and if her father and brother had not left when she was fourteen. But that was the way it was and now in this small village that seemed perfect- as it was mostly inhabited by kindly old women- she had met a person who had the same passion for reading as she did and the same interest in painting and he was a man and she could not talk to him.

She had stammered and wrung her hands in her lap, she had continuously looked at his sister despite having conversations with him and she had not looked him in the eye once, she must have come across as very strange and very rude. In the future it would be best if she avoided him so as not to offend him.


	4. Chapter 3: Books

Chapter Three: Books

Peter Jenkyns walked into the village with his paper portfolio under his arm. He had another small signpost for the Johnson's shop window, this one advertising that items were available to order through the couple's shop even if they were not physically in the store. When he reached the door he observed Miss Amelia Walker the educated young girl who had called on his sister a few days earlier, she too was making her way to the door of the shop so he stood and waited for her and held open the door for her to walk through first. She curtseyed in thanks and she blushed which made him smile, he had not known English girls to behave like she did since he himself was young in Cranford, she seemed to fit in perfectly, he considered telling her this but she became embarrassed easily he'd noticed so he decided not to.

"Good morning, Mr Jenkyns," she had said quietly to him as he stood holding open the door, he had replied correctly and nodded.

"Miss Walker," he had said and when they were both inside the shop she had said hello to the shopkeepers and he himself had nodded and been addressed by Mr Johnson.

"Ah, Mr Jenkyns, you have our sign?" he said in excitement and Peter opened his portfolio and carefully handed the paper to the shopkeeper. "Well, isn't that marvellous?" said Mr Johnson and Mrs Johnson who had been attending Amelia looked over her husband's shoulder and cooed in delight.

"Oh it is perfect, Mr Jenkyns!" she told him admirably, "Isn't he a wonderful find?" she said to her husband and Mr Johnson smiled at his new sign.

"May I see?" Amelia said quietly from the same side of the counter as Peter and she moved and looked at the calligraphy with interest as Mr Johnson proudly showed it to her. "Oh my, it is so precise," she said and she smiled, "Mr Jenkyns, that is very impressive," she looked up at Peter who for the first time was speechless in his modesty.

"And what is more impressive is that you can order anything from us and we shall supply it," Mrs Johnson said importantly, Amelia smiled a little and the shopkeepers laughed to themselves.

"Yes, of course," Amelia said quietly.

"What was it you wanted, my dear? Flour and eggs?"

Amelia stood next to Peter Jenkyns and waited for Mrs Johnson to fetch the things she had wanted, Peter stood closing his portfolio and waiting for Mr Johnson to stop admiring his sign so that he too could pick up groceries for his sister. "Is your sister well, Mr Jenkyns?" Amelia asked him quietly and he looked down at her, the girl was not quite looking at him, she seemed to have problems looking at anyone directly so Peter did not take offence, he only looked kindly at the girl and wondered why she was so shy.

"She is very well, Miss Walker, thank you for asking. How is your mother?"

"She is also well," Amelia smiled, "Did- did you finish your book yet?" she asked him, "the one about the bossu."

He grinned as he looked down at her and she looked up briefly and smiled, he shook his head, "I have not finished it yet, Miss Walker. But I am getting through it. Perhaps you would like to borrow it when I am finished?" He wondered if his sister would approve, or if the girl's mother would approve, after all the book had some rather racy themes but he had a feeling that the well-read girl would not find it inappropriate.

"That- that is very kind of you," she said in surprise, Mrs Johnson returned with her flour and eggs and Amelia thanked her and then looked up at him, her purchases a barrier held high to her chest, "I thought I might call on your sister tomorrow, do you know if she is expecting anyone?"

"I do not think she has any engagements," he told her.

"And you do not think she would object, as I was only with her a few days ago?" she asked unsurely.

"Of course she will not object!" Peter scoffed and Amelia seemed to flinch a little at his tone but she smiled as best she could.

"I will see her tomorrow then," she said quickly, "Goodbye." Peter moved to open the door again for her but Mrs Johnson got there first and Amelia smiled and said "Goodbye," to the other woman as well. Mrs Johnson closed the door on her and shook her head.

"Poor girl, I must tell her we can order her colouring for her," she said to herself as she moved back behind the counter.

"Her colouring?" Peter asked in confusion.

"Hair colouring," Mrs Johnson clarified, "so she may dye that white stripe and get her confidence back."

"You think it is her hair that has made her timid?" Peter said curiously.

"Well what else could it be?" Mrs Johnson smiled and shook her head, "what can I get for you, Mr Jenkyns? On the house, as a thanks for the beautiful notice."

* * *

"Hello, Miss Matty," Amelia said quietly as the little lady opened the door to her.

"Miss Amelia, what a pleasant surprise!" Matty said and she beckoned with her hands to show Amelia that she was welcome in the house.

"I- I have brought you something," Amelia said quietly and she blushed as she peered into the parlour to see thankfully it was empty, Mr Jenkyns must have forgotten to tell his sister that she was going to call, she hadn't meant it as a surprise, but she was very grateful that Matty viewed it as a pleasant one. "It is a present for making me- us," she corrected herself, "making us so welcome." She opened her basket to reveal the shortbread fingers she had baked the night before, they were golden yellow and with sparkling sugar sprinkled on top.

"Oh, you dear girl!" Miss Matty said in surprise, "they are my favourite, however did you know?"

"They are my favourite also," Amelia admitted and the two women smiled at one another.

"Will you stay to try them?" Miss Matty offered and Amelia nodded gratefully.

The two women sat in the parlour and spoke quietly to one another about nothing in particular while they enjoyed tea and the biscuits.

"I envy your mother, Amelia," Matty said quietly, "Having you as a cook and companion. We did have a maid for sometime but sadly she passed on leaving her husband and little baby with us for a short time. He is the joiner who lives down by the new railway station," Matty rambled a little but remembered what she had been saying, "anyway, since then I have cooked and cleaned, Peter helps the best he can, but he is a man, he does not see when he is helping or when he is in the way!" Matty rolled her eyes, "he will be sorry he missed your visit," she said on another note, "he has been lining up books I think so that you may borrow them."

"Has he?" Amelia said in shock.

"Yes," Matty smiled, "he has so many books that he feels he cannot discuss with me," she sighed a little, "perhaps I should make sure these books are suitable before I let him give them to you, he is so travelled that he forgets about politeness and rules."

"No books are bad," Amelia stressed, "even books about bad things, their purpose is just to make you aware of them."

Miss Matty smiled and looked at her young friend, "You sound just like him."

Amelia swallowed, "It was my governess who taught me, who encouraged me to read, it was she who gave me the books I have read, I do not think my mother would approve of them either."

"Do you think you should read them then, if your mother does not approve?"

The older woman had adopted a rather serious tone and Amelia did not know how to answer immediately, "I- I think it would be a lot worse for me if I had no form of escape."

"Oh," Miss Matty said in surprise but she blushed, she knew that intelligent people were prone to depression, her older sister had been that way and Peter was too, she had forgotten briefly just how intelligent Amelia must have been to read in four different languages, and of course, with no friends in her life she had to have her books. "Yes of course," she smiled gently. "The next time you call I'm sure Peter will be here, he often walks on the tops of an afternoon."

"The tops?" Amelia said in interest.

"Oh, the hillsides that surround our village, we have always called them 'the tops'" Matty blushed.

"And it is where people go to walk?" Amelia asked still with interest. "I wondered where I should walk," she smiled, "I meant to ask you but I kept forgetting."

"There are some nice gentle walks up there," Matty smiled, "very easy to find."

* * *

Over the next week or so Amelia discovered the walks on the tops that surrounded Cranford. The air was much clearer up there not like in the sheltered town and the sky seemed bluer and the grass greener, even the gorse seemed pricklier and it's flowers more yellow. She explored on her own as her mother did not care to join her.

Her mother had not really left the house since they had arrived, they did not go to church despite Amelia's gentle encouragement that perhaps they should. Her mother did not accompany her to the village stores but sent Amelia on her own to fetch things and she did not want to see any visitors and so they did not receive any. She seemed content to sit in the house and read in the parlour. It worried Amelia a little, after all it was she who had insisted that they leave their home to make a new life somewhere else, but she did not know how to engage her mother.

Amelia picked her mother wild flowers and she made her cakes and meals that she seemed to enjoy, but she could not encourage her to get out of the house, she felt she was asking too much of her and she had asked so much already.

Amelia worried about her mother while she was on her walks, she sometimes sat and sketched flowers and landscapes to try and forget about their predicament but it was always there nagging at the back of her head, worrying her to the point of exhaustion and making her stammer and wring her hands in her lap when she was not really concentrating.

Sometimes on her walks she would pass people from the town or she would stop and talk to passers by, she made acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Brown while on a Sunday constitutional. They were a rather eccentric older couple, Mrs Brown was a twinkly eyed Scottish woman and Mr Brown a large man who had the appearance and demeanour of a friendly brown bear. Amelia had at first been slightly scared of Mr Brown, huge and gruff sounding, but he was clearly of excellent character and she warmed to him simply because of the way he seemed to love his wife so dearly.

Apart from the Browns she had not made any other friends, and even they were not friends but merely acquaintances who must have recognised her each time they saw each other not because she engaged them in memorable conversation but for the same reason everyone now remembered her, her hair.

When it had first happened, less than three months ago her mother had been appalled by it but at the same time she had not believed that it was really there and so she had never offered to fetch her daughter a dye to fix her premature white streak. And now it had been three months and Amelia did not want to get rid of it, when Mrs Johnson waiting for an opportunity when her shop had been empty offered to order Amelia a hair colour from London she had found herself offended and she had declined. Months ago she would have taken it gladly. But now she was used to it she found it worked to her advantage, for she wished only to be left alone and she had heard people pass her on her walks and whisper to each other what a shame it was and how awful it must be to be so young and so unattractive. Amelia was glad it made her unattractive, she did not want to be noticed that way.

It was Miss Matty Jenkyns who was Amelia's true friend. She had grown more used to Peter Jenkyns, Matty's brother, but he was sometimes nowhere to be seen and other times he was at his desk in the window taking advantage of the light, and it was those days that Amelia knew not to call on them. She did not wish to disturb his work and she still did not feel entirely comfortable around him. She supposed it was what his sister told her, that he was not used to polite society and he didn't know how to act, when she was in a room with him he seemed too familiar and she did not like that, once he had touched her arm in a way that was obviously innocent but she had twitched away from him noticeably and she had felt so embarrassed afterwards that she couldn't even look at him.

She did not like being touched, not even by Miss Matty, she was awkward and too self-conscious, she knew she should have been more relaxed but she had her reasons and she couldn't shake them off yet. It was embarrassing for everyone around when she flinched away from them but it was especially embarrassing for her.

Erminia and Mr Buxton had not called on them again or invited her for tea a second time, she hoped her mother was not too disappointed on that front, she knew that those were the sorts of people that she'd rather Amelia spent time with than Miss Jenkyns who it seemed her mother regarded as a naïve spinster. Her true nature had come out one evening when Amelia had been recalling conversations of the day she'd had with her friend. Amelia didn't like it when her mother was nasty, but it didn't happen too often and she tried her very hardest not to provoke it.

Amelia sat by the little bridge up on the tops and she read the book of French poetry that Peter Jenkyns had leant to her. It was such sad and beautiful verse that Amelia wondered paranoid that the old man knew more than he seemed to, everything he had recommended spoke to her sometimes too personally. He had told her that he had been moved by it, she wondered if he was moved to tears the way she was as she read the haunting lines. She closed the book having finished it and she looked down at the little stream that flowed through the hilltops and down into Cranford. She was constantly amazed by writers, how could they pinpoint a feeling that felt so private and write it down for all to recognise?

Later in the day, after her walk she returned the book and several others to the Jenkyns. Mr Jenkyns was there to quiz her on her reading and Matty sat silently pouring tea as the two talked to each other. With Matty in the room Amelia did not feel so awkward talking to him and when he talked about the books and seemed to feel the same way she did she felt very confident in discussing with him the author's intent.

"I do not like books that make me feel sad," Miss Matty contributed to the conversation when Amelia talked of the pain and the sorrow in some of the French verse.

"No, I do," Amelia insisted, "those are my very favourite poems," she pressed, "to know that there is someone out there, maybe thousands of people who feel this sadness too, it does not make me feel alone."

Peter nodded, "when it is written down one is allowed to feel that way, do you see?" he said to his sister, "it is a universal feeling, nothing that has to be repressed or hidden."

"Yes," Amelia said and she looked down at her hands, which she clutched in fists at her skirts. "Everyone feels sadness, everyone has to- to mourn, and why not through poetry?"

"Have you received any letters from your brother recently?" Matty asked kindly and she touched Amelia's arm, she pulled it away in fright and she looked up in surprise at the shocked expression on her friend's face.

"What?" She asked in surprise.

"Your brother," Matty said again quietly. "I- I wondered if you had heard from him."

Amelia shook her head slowly, "no, we have not," she swallowed.

"I am sure he will write soon," Matty said reassuringly.

"Oh," Amelia said in surprise and she looked at Peter instead who sat in his chair and looked at her with concern. "Yes- I, I am sure he is fine, wherever he is." She stood up, "I- I should go home now, I'm- thank you for your hospitality," she said to Miss Matty, "and for the books, Mr Jenkyns," she told Peter who now stood too.

"I wish to fetch you some more, please wait just a moment," he told her and he left the room and dashed up the stairs.

"Give your mother my regards," Matty tried quietly as they stood in the hallway and waited for Peter to return, there was a pause while they listened to him creaking upstairs, "it gives him such pleasure, you know," Matty said quietly. "That you enjoy the books."

"Oh," Amelia said quietly.

"He talks about what book he shall give you next," Matty said but she stopped and was quiet again as Peter came back down the stairs.

Peter held in his hands three books, "German poetry," he said, "doesn't sound plausable, but try it," he insisted. He handed her a small volume and then the two larger books, "novels, French," he said, he looked at her and smiled, "nothing depressing," he told her, "adventures."

"Are they," she looked up at him, "amusing?"

He smiled and his teeth shone through his lips, "very," he assured her.

"Thank you, Mr Jenkyns," she said quietly. "I- I am very grateful for these, even if I do not appear to be."

"Of course you appear to be," he told her gently and he smiled and moved to touch her arms in assurance, he stopped before he did however, remembering that she didn't like to be touched. "Take your time with these ones," he said softly, "I will run out of books to give you!" he laughed a little and Amelia looked at the books in her arms and she smiled.

"I- I will see you both another time," Amelia said quietly, "I think my mother will be wondering where I am, thank you both," she said finitely and Peter opened the door for her and let her out with her books.

"Poor thing," Miss Matty said quietly when Peter had closed the door. "She is missing her brother terribly, and you see he has not written."

"Men are useless," Peter said in fact and defence of his sex. "I'm sorry, Matty, if I made you feel like that."

"Many times," she looked up at him with sadness in her eyes but she shook her head, "but I had Deborah, and I was not as unhappy as that girl seems to be. I still say it is your sad poems that have done this," she said rather angrily to him.

"Matty," he sighed, "she said she was comforted by those poems. She is very intelligent, more than even she knows I think," he sat down on the sofa and looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. "If there were only some nice young man here to fall in love with her, I feel sure that would do the trick. What happened to Mr Buxton's son?" he asked absently.

"He got married." Matty reminded him bluntly, "you were at the wedding."

"Oh, so I was," Peter said and sighed, "Yes, she is a sad girl, but she is bright and she does not let her sadness rule her. I have given her happy books," he told her brightly and he looked at his sister as she cleared the tea things away, "adventure stories, swashbucklers," he smiled.

"No romance." Matty agreed.

"But of course they are romantic!" Peter said in amazement, "I thought she would like that."

"Peter!" Matty fumed quietly, "you cannot give a girl like that romance novels?"

"Why not?" he asked in earnest.

She shook her head in solemn disbelief, "what chance has she of romance?" Matty said quietly.

"What?" Peter said rather too loudly and his brow furrowed. "You do not think Miss Amelia capable of that?"

"Of course she is not capable!" Matty stressed, "She cannot bear to be touched! And she- she has not an attractive personality."

"Whatever can you mean by that?"

"The sadness and her- her lack of beauty, what hope is there for her in attracting a husband?"

"Lack of beauty?" Peter said in disbelief, "she is- she is a beauty," he argued.

"Peter, you see her youth. You are not thinking in terms of today's young man." Matty said calmly though her brother seemed to look angry still. "A nervous disposition and a large streak of white hair is not beautiful."

"But," Peter swallowed, "the- the hair, is it not interesting?" he tired, "and her warmth, once she is used to you then she is not nervous, she is warm and passionate."

"No one could wait that long," Matty finished, "I just hope she isn't upset by your books." Matty left her brother in the room and Peter worried that he might have given their young friend the wrong books again. He did not want to upset her, he had chosen those books specifically to cheer her, was he really such a bad judge of character that Amelia would not enjoy a romantic adventure story? He hoped not. He had enjoyed the stories very much, they were different from the other things he read in that they were comical and light, but there had been romance in everything he had given to Amelia to read and she had not seemed upset by it before.

* * *

Amelia sat in her room and read the books Peter had given to her the week before. They were thrilling, so thrilling in fact that she had done the complete opposite of what he asked and she had been reading constantly for three days. She had not taken her walks and she had only stopped to attend to her mother. She had glanced at the German poetry but she didn't like it, the words were too harsh to be romantic and even when translated into English they sounded ugly. She instead read the French adventure stories he had given to her. By the afternoon of day three she had finished the first book and she closed it with triumph and looked at her reflection to see if she looked as exhausted and thrilled as she felt. She definitely looked exhausted.

She hurried down the stairs to see her mother, she had not offered her a cup of tea since the morning and her mother would have noticed. "There you are," she said angrily as Amelia came into the room slightly out of breath, her mother was standing in front of the desk in the corner of the room, "I have not heard a word out of you for days and now you are dashing around the house like a mad person, what have you been doing?"

"I have been reading, Mother," Amelia smiled a little and blushed, "a most fantastical story that the Jenkyns leant to me."

"That old spinster reads fantastical books?" her mother said in disbelief, "what nonsense, it was that strange couple who gave it to you, wasn't it, the Browns?" she specified.

"No, no, it was Miss Jenkyns' brother," Amelia insisted.

"You shouldn't read the same books as old unmarried men." Her mother had a quick answer.

"What are you doing?" Amelia suddenly noticed her mother's stiffness in front of the desk and she craned to look past her, there were piles of old letters on the desk, her mother had been reading them. Amelia's face broke a little and she spoke quietly, "Mother," she whispered nervously, "you- you said you wouldn't."

"I am only reading them!" Mrs Walker said sharply, "you cannot deny me that!"

Amelia nodded, "yes, no, of course," she said quietly and she looked up at her mother's face to show that she understood but her mother didn't look back, she looked only at the mantel piece that had since they had moved into the house only had small vases of flowers on that Amelia had picked for her mother. There was a portrait hung above it that had not been there the day before and Amelia's flowers from her walk four days previously were nowhere to be seen. Amelia gasped at it but her mother spoke.

"You must let me have it," she said angrily to her daughter, "it is not natural that it not be there."

"But- I, I thought you," Amelia started but she did not finish for she looked at her mother's unforgiving face and she nodded obediently and looked at the floor. "Yes, of course," she said again, "of course you must."

Mrs Walker turned and collected her letters, she put them into the desk and locked it. "Fetch the tea," she told her daughter, "then you must take back that book. I will not allow it in my house."

Amelia swallowed and looked at the picture on the wall anxiously before she went to the kitchen and boiled a kettle for her mother's tea. In the warm room next to the kitchen stove where she boiled the kettle Amelia shivered all over and the pleasure she had gained from reading the exciting book seemed to shudder out of her and disappear.

Amelia did of course return the books, but not all of them, just the one she had read and the German poetry. She kept the second French novel under the crinoline of the blue dress in her wardrobe. She did not know why she even bothered to hide it, her mother had never entered her room and she knew that even though she had flippantly forbidden it she would not care so much as to make sure her daughter was not reading the same books as old unmarried men.

Amelia put the incident with the letters to the back of her mind and reasoned that of course her mother would want to remember pieces of the past, especially as she refused to leave the house and make a new life. She didn't want to think of it, she had a new life with new friends and so long as she remembered to attend to her mother regularly then her mother would not do anything drastic.

To distract her mother from her erratic behaviour Amelia decided to go to the village stores and buy her a present. She would order her the new Thackery serial, which she would then spend evenings relating to her mother, she had heard that there were Irish stereotypes involved and she knew that her mother would appreciate those even if the story was not to Amelia's taste.

* * *

"I am so glad you enjoyed the books, Miss Amelia," Peter said in relief as she sat in their parlour and returned the second book along with another basketful of goodies for Miss Matty, this time she had made almond macaroons which Matty nibbled on contentedly while her brother was able to speak to their friend. "I was not sure you did when you brought back the first one after just three days! And not even with a note. Golly, I thought I'd really picked a bad one."

"No, no, Mr Jenkyns," Amelia blushed and smiled up at him, "No, it was the most exciting thing I had ever read!" she grinned, "It had only taken me those three days to read it all. Only my mother got a little angry because I was spending so much time reading so I told her I would return the book. I am sorry I did not have time to tell you how much I enjoyed it. I- I expect I was feeling too guilty. My poor mother did not see me much at all over those three days."

Matty tutted a little and Amelia looked at her and blushed, "I know, I have learned my lesson. I am making it up to her, I promise, Miss Matty."

"Did you like the fight scenes?" Peter pressed eagerly.

"I did!" Amelia said excitedly, "I felt as though I was watching a play it was so dramatic!"

"And did you laugh?" he asked still.

"Yes, lots of times." She smiled, "But mostly I was silent, gripped with excitement!" she laughed a little. "They- they are not what I would normally read," she said quietly, "I expect children would enjoy them very much," she blushed a little, "which is why I so liked them, I suppose," she said quietly. "I felt that sense of- of innocence and rapture," she smiled, "Do you think that is silly?" she asked Peter and she looked up at him.

"Not at all," he said reassuringly, "It is why I gave them to you," he said quietly, "so you would not preoccupy yourself with such adult thoughts as sad poetry." He smiled at her.

"You- you seem to know exactly what I need." She said quietly as she looked up at him, "and- and you too, Miss Matty," she turned and smiled warmly at her friend, "you are the dearest friends I could have hoped to meet."

"You sweet girl," Miss Matty said in surprise for she had drifted a little and missed the last part of the conversation, she only listened when Amelia turned to her and spoke.

"Mr Jenkyns," Amelia turned back to the kind man with the dark eyes and equally dark eyebrows, "I was wondering if- if you might tell me about India," she heard herself say. "We received letters of course from Robin, my- my brother," she explained, "and my father when he was alive, but I have never had the chance to ask either of them about the things they wrote about." She swallowed and looked down at her clasped hands, "Did you see the Taj Mahal?"

* * *

And so in the following months Amelia's friendship with the Jenkyns became much less based on the foundation of book borrowing. She still came once a week to their door with a basket of cakes or biscuits, with thank you cards and tokens that she painted for them, but she did not always leave their house with armfuls of books. In fact now that they discussed the world rather than the make believe world that she had preferred to read about sometimes Amelia did not leave for hours after arriving. She and Matty listened with interest to Peter's stories of his travels and the three of them looked over books of architectural etchings while Peter told them about the things he had seen.

Peter was extremely keen on architecture, something that Amelia had not had the opportunity to study but when he spoke about it and showed them pictures and paintings he had done Amelia found herself absorbed and desperate to learn everything there was to know. The places in India that her brother's letters had described were nothing compared to what Peter had etchings of. Nothing compared to his paintings and fine detailed drawings of buildings that Amelia would not have even begun to imagine.

The Taj Mahal which Amelia had seen pictures of before was fascinating but the ancient structures that Peter had seen throughout India, carved out of solid rock in the 12th Century and so much more decorative than anything in European history was so beautiful that Amelia could have looked at Peter's paintings every time she visited them and been content never to learn any more.

She finally found she understood the Indian religions and the significance of different animals that were found over and over again in the ideology, she could identify different gods and different religions from looking at architecture. She found it all exciting and so different from the isolation of Britain as an island.

But throughout this change in their friendship Amelia tried at home never to mention anything that she had been learning because it was the one thing she knew her mother would be furious about; that she was now passionate about the country that had taken her husband and son away from her. At home she played maid to her mother and she read to her stories that she enjoyed as well as more important the newspapers of course, she made meals and tea and cakes and she did not grumble, because she had something to look forward to, both at night when she went to bed and read the novels and poetry and history books that Peter had given to her and the one or two times a week she spent with her friends learning and talking and talking.


	5. Chapter 4: Paintings

Chapter Four: Paintings

Miss Matty sat in front of the fire and found she could not focus on her needlework, her brother was at the table carefully writing out another notice in his elegant hand, behind him on the easel was the small painting of their young friend, which he had been adjusting meticulously after dinner. He had only stopped working on it when Matty had pointed out that it was dark and he couldn't possibly see it properly, rather than worrying that he would go blind he worried instead that he might misjudge the colours in Amelia's hair and so he had agreed with her to stop. Matty did not look at her needlework, nor did she look at her brother, but instead she fixed her gaze on Amelia's portrait.

The girl had sketched and painted for them often so as a thank you. For the small tokens she had given them Peter had decided to paint the portrait but he had been doing it from memory more than life so as to surprise Amelia. The girl had been there for the initial sketch but Peter had acted as though it was disastrous and that he'd given up on it. It was only after Amelia had left their company that he began working into it with his paints. He had been working on it for three afternoons in a row now, and a couple of mornings. It had made Matty wonder just what her brother thought of their young friend, his obsessive behaviour over the painting worried her. But she knew it was silly to worry like that because even if her brother did have feelings for the girl Matty knew that he was not foolish enough to act on them, he knew his limitations.

Matty was worried about the painting, not her brother's obsessive behaviour or that he would blind himself working in the dark, no, she worried because she thought that the painting was not accurate and that he would take her criticism badly. She had thought there was something not quite right about the picture since he first drew it, but she hadn't wanted to point it out. Now she decided she must, for if he presented it to Amelia and she told him it was not good, well, wouldn't that be worse? Wouldn't he be embarrassed?

"Peter," she broke the silence and he did not look up from his calligraphy, merely made a noise that she took to mean he was listening. "About your picture of Amelia," she said quietly.

"yes?" he asked, and he turned around and looked first at his sister and then at the little portrait which filled him with a small pride every time he looked at it. He hadn't painted a young lady for a good long time.

"It's lovely, a very lovely painting," Matty assured him but Peter looked at her and raised an eyebrow, he knew what the next word was going to be. "But, only, I'm not sure it really captures Amelia's likeness."

Peter took off his glasses and his eyes narrowed, he took a long look at his painting. "I- I think it looks very like her," He said and he shook his head in confusion, "what can you mean?" he asked sincerely and again he looked at his sister, he didn't smile though, this was what Matty had been worried about. Though Peter was a good humoured sort, in fact he was usually very jolly and had a smile for everyone he did not smile when someone criticised his work.

Matty stood up and laid down her stitching before joining him in front of the easel. She looked at it and frowned, "Well, like I say it is beautifully done, and that is of course her hair and the shape of her face but-"

"But what?" Peter said impatiently and Matty frowned up at him before pointing at Amelia's face.

"You have drawn her much too sad," she said angrily, "I have hardly ever seen that look on Miss Amelia's face, she is always smiling and happy. As are you, when she is here."

"What- what are you implying?"

"Nothing, you silly fool," Matty said quietly and she blushed and fumed slightly, "only that this is not her character."

"You are wrong," Peter raised his eyebrows in quiet triumph, "she is not sad, this is simply her face in thought, I have seen it many times." Though he seemed to take the victory with his argument Matty could not help noticing her brother blush in embarrassment at misunderstanding her accusations.

"And what might I ask do the two of you talk about if she looks this sad all the time?" Matty said angrily at her brother and she put her hands on her hips, "Don't you understand if you show her this portrait she will think we see her as a melancholy person, and she tries so hard not to be!"

"She is not melancholic in the painting!" he stressed, "she will know her own face!" Peter said incredulously, "do you think she looks in the mirror and sees herself forever smiling and laughing?"

"Do you think she is so sad that she looks into the mirror and sees that?" Matty pointed at the portrait.

Peter fumed and narrowed his eyes, he spoke calmly and put his hands up in peace to his now red faced sister, "I only think that Miss Amelia is a much more complex person than you mark her down for," he said softly, "an artist can emphasise parts of the character that might not be obvious to, to people who do not know the subject, that is artistic licence. I think Miss Amelia will like to see that we know, or at least, I know, she has another side to her."

Matty folded her arms and looked at the painting, she shook her head and said quietly, "you cannot give this to her mother," she pursed her lips and Peter rolled his eyes, "mothers want to see their daughters happy."

"Then Mrs Walker shouldn't have brought her daughter to Cranford," Peter said quickly under his breath, he sat down at the desk and picked up his pen.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Matty said in shock. "Cranford is a wonderful place to grow up, it was for me, and for you!"

Peter sighed and looked up at his sister, she looked slightly heartbroken that her brother had insulted her beloved village, "Yes," he agreed calmly, "it was for us, but it is not necessarily so any more, the people who live here are not the same type of people who lived here when we were young."

"They are exactly the same people!" Matty laughed incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed, "they are. And how many of them are spinsters and widows or old men like myself?" he titled his head and raised his eyebrows, "how many of them have children, how many young people do you know?"

"I know plenty."

"How many are in the same class as Miss Amelia? As Miss Erminia?"

Matty blinked and tried to think, "I- young Mr Buxton," she started but Peter interrupted.

"Has married," he smiled at her sadly, "And soon your Erminia will leave and travel and meet people, and there will be no one under fifty for Amelia to befriend."

Matty looked away from him at back at the sad portrait, "perhaps it is for the best," she said quietly. "That hair," she said as she looked at the shock of white from Amelia's temple, "it is not attractive."

Peter felt angry but he did not immideatley leap to Amelia's defence, it would only fuel his sister's imagination. They had had this conversation too many times. He thought of Amelia's hair and how striking he found it, it was interesting and it was different, from an artist's point of view he found it very beautiful. He thought though that in a way his sister was right, young men would not find it interesting or beautiful, they would be scared by it and think that Amelia would soon be completely grey and therefore not be beautiful.

"I had very golden curls for nearly fifty years," she told him as she moved back to her seat and took up her sewing, Peter just looked over his handwriting and did nothing, "and Deborah's hair was dark up until the day she passed," she mused quietly.

"And what about me?" he raised an eyebrow and continued to look at his work, "I must be the black sheep, sorry, _white sheep_ of the family."

"I did wonder. Though," she smiled, "your eyebrows are still dark." Matty looked at his thick silvery hair in the candlelight, "how old were you when it turned?"

"I've always had grey hairs," he smiled and looked at her, "it is natural," he raised his eyebrows, "it was not until I was fifty that it all changed," he shook his head and smiled at his sister's lack of understanding, "do you think all your friends' hair is natural?"

"Peter! Don't make such rude comments," she snapped, "if ladies of a certain stature wish to dye their hair it is no concern of yours."

"Would you have Miss Amelia dye her hair?"

"No, she is far too young. Young people should not dye their hair."

"Even if it would make her more attractive to other young people?"

"Peter!" Matty said his name angrily, "it is not just Amelia's hair that makes her undesirable, you must see that," she stressed, "She is too timid when meeting people and then too familiar with her friends."

"Too familiar?" Peter said in disbelief, "what can you mean by that?"

"She talks far too much," she snapped, "sometimes when she visits she is here for hours because she does not stop talking and you encourage her."

"I enjoy her conversation!" Peter said angrily, "people with brains must be encouraged, Matilda," he said furiously.

"All I say is that it is good that she is here in Cranford where there are only boring old widows and spinsters such as myself, because she would never attract any attention behaving the way she does."

"You would rather she behaved like you did?" he scoffed.

"Don't you see," Matty said painfully, "she does act the way I did! I was far too timid with suitors, I, I am a spinster because I was shy!"

"Oh, Matty," Peter said softly and he stood up and moved to her, he stood in front of her awkwardly and looked down at her on the sofa, "that is not true, it is only misfortune that you were not married," he told her, he bent down and looked up at her from the carpet, he smiled at her and tried to catch her eye, "Lots of men were in love with you and I know one who still is," he smiled, she blushed terribly, "they were intimidated by your beauty and your golden curls," he grinned. "Mr Buxton was taken by your boldness was he not?" Matty looked away from her brother in embarrassment, "I believe it is your familiarity that he has come to love," he told her.

"If any young men come to Cranford we must help her be noticed," she told him softly.

Peter smiled, "Only if they are worthy of her."

Matty shook her head, "beggars cannot be choosers, Peter." She stood up and helped him to his feet, "I am going to bed now, I will think of ways we can help Miss Amelia, perhaps a bonnet," she mused as she turned and blew out the candle she was working by.

Peter watched his sister leave the room and then he sat down in front of the fire and looked at the painting. Amelia did not need anything to make her more interesting or beautiful. He hoped the girl knew that, he hoped for her sake that she did not have such a low opinion of herself that his sister had of her.

"Amelia," he said to the painting, "you are wonderful, just as you are." He told it and he smiled. He hoped that someone else would see it in her soon, she must have been tired of having only old men and spinsters to talk to. Spending her afternoons in his company must not have been her ideal situation.

He did enjoy it though. Having a friend so young and interesting as her.

* * *

Peter opened the door to Amelia standing there, the girl held a basket in her arms and she smiled up at him. It had been four days since she had last seen them, she wished she could see them every day, she only lived a few doors down the street and she knew that they had just as little to do as she had, but it was not done to always be imposing oneself on neighbours. And she knew she was always imposing, it was why she brought them cakes and milk and apple juice, why she painted and sketched for them. She wanted to be as generous as they were in letting her into their home, she wished she could invite them to her home but her mother liked to be alone.

"Miss Amelia," he smiled at her.

"Hello, Mr Jenkyns," she smiled back at him, her teeth exposed a little as she grinned, "is your sister at home? I have baked shortbread and I know how she likes it."

"Amelia, you mustn't keep baking things for us!" he smiled and shook his head, he stepped aside and let her in, "Miss Matty is in the kitchen, why don't you go through," he suggested.

She smiled up at him as he closed the door behind her, "Mr Jenkyns, I am forever inviting myself into your home, I must bring you something!"

"Your company is much appreciated," he assured her and she looked down at the basket humbly and smiled before turning and going into the kitchen.

"Hello, Miss Matty," Matty was at the sink drying dishes and she turned flustered to see her guest. Amelia set down her basket and took off her gloves. "Let me do that," she offered, "I have made you a present you must look at."

Miss Matty smiled, "Amelia, you are so silly," she peeled back the lace and looked at the fingers of shortbread in Amelia's basket. She gasped in pleasure and smiled up at the girl. "Tea with this," she said and she crossed to the stove to boil a kettle.

"We both agree," said Peter as he glanced at his sister sitting with her cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other, "that you must stop this nonsense at once, Miss Amelia," Amelia looked at him holding her own tea and biscuit and she looked worried. But Peter smiled at her, "You are welcome to visit us whenever you like, however often you like. Miss Matty is the sort of person who lives for guests, so you needn't bring a thousand cakes with you at all times."

Amelia blushed and put her cup and saucer down on the small table in front of her, she looked at Matty who smiled at her reassuringly. "I cannot impose upon your kindness further," she said quietly, "I am here too often," she told Miss Matty specifically.

"You are here much less than Miss Pole," Peter stressed from his chair but Matty shot him a glance and then put her hand on Amelia's arm kindly.

"You can come every day," she assured her, "Peter is right, I do live for company, I am lonely without it, and loneliness is sometimes quite dehabilitating."

"And I do not count as her company," Peter interjected.

"He is in his own worlds," Matty smiled.

"I do not intrude on your worlds then, Mr Jenkyns?" Amelia looked up at him and smiled a little.

"Amelia," Matty touched her arm again and grinned, "they are worlds that you seem to fit into quite well."

"I do not know what you mean," Peter said and he drank his tea, "I am never in my own world, so to speak, I just have things that I must do or things I have to read about, it is not my fault, Matty, if you do not understand them." Peter laughed a little and meant it as a joke but his sister did not laugh, she shot him another glance. "Besides, I do not even attempt to understand the worlds you and your friends seem to move in. That is when I make myself scarce."

"We have talked about it, Amelia," Matty ignored him and spoke instead kindly to their guest, "you are a very dear friend and we want you to know you are welcome here, always."

"Thank you," Amelia said and she blushed, "thank you both, you are so kind to me," she smiled a little wider and said, "I feel I should go home and bake you an enormous cake!"

Peter laughed and so did his sister. Matty looked at Peter and flashed her eyes a little, they had been planning this for a few days, since the last time Amelia had visited and Peter was then able to secretly put the finishing touches to his painting. Matty had observed the serious look in Amelia's eyes as Peter had been talking on that last visit. It had convinced her that Amelia would not be offended by his portrayal, unfortunately Peter too had noticed the smiles and laughter as Amelia spoke to Matty and so he worried that she would find it offensive. He had been less eager to give her the portrait, but he had agreed that they would give it to her as a gift after first telling her she was always welcome in their home.

"Ah," he said and he stood up and walked to the desk where he picked up the small painting that his sister had wrapped in a carefully preserved piece of patterned paper he had brought back with him from his travels and in which he had wrapped for his sister an ebony elephant. "We wanted to give you something," he said rather nervously, "for all the times you've painted for us and baked things, I- I just wanted to show you what your company means to us."

"Peter made it," Matty told her as Amelia took the package from Peter and looked up at him in surprised gratitude. "I just wrapped it," she added and she smiled.

"You two are so silly," Amelia spoke softly as she unwrapped the gift, she looked down at the painting in shock and said nothing.

"I think it is very good, don't you?" Matty said quickly and she smiled at Amelia.

"Oh, oh yes," Amelia heard herself say very quietly, she looked down at the portrait, it looked like something that should have hung in Mr Buxton's fine house it was so beautifully done, but it was of her. She looked up at Peter who stood nervously waiting for her to say something. "It is beautiful," she told him, "thank you." He smiled in relief and sat back down, "I- I don't know how to accept this," she told them honestly.

"You must give it to your mother," Matty told her with a smile, "so she can have a picture of her lovely daughter."

"Oh, no, I couldn't give it to my mother," Amelia said in hushed disbelief, "she would insist on paying you for it!"

"Paying! It's a gift," Peter said in disbelief.

"No, no, she would see it as time and effort, and it must have been, Mr Jenkyns, she- she is right, we must pay you for this."

"Amelia, why don't you just give it to her and see what happens," Matty suggested quietly, "I'll come home with you later and I can tell her it is a present, that we wanted you to have it."

Amelia looked from one to the other and then down at the painting on her lap, she nodded and looked at Matty, "Yes, yes, that would be nice," she agreed, "thank you," she looked still warmer at Matty and she leant towards her and kissed her cheek, "thank you Miss Matty." She stood up and walked to Peter, she leant down and kissed his cheek too, "thank you, Mr Jenkyns," she said quietly and sincerely, "You are extremely talented."

* * *

"Mother?" Amelia walked into the parlour where her mother was sitting at the desk, Amelia smiled nervously, "we have a guest," she told her nervously, "Miss Matty has walked me home and I have invited her in," she said quietly.

Mrs Walker stood and smiled a little at her guest, "Do come in, Miss Jenkyns," she said and Matty came into the room. "Amelia will fetch tea," she said and Amelia nodded and moved to the door again but Matty caught her arm and spoke.

"Oh, thank you but that won't be necessary, Mrs Walker, I don't want to intrude, I just came to, to give you something."

"Give me something?" Mrs Walker smiled a little in confusion and looked at her daughter, Amelia nodded meekly.

"Mother, Miss Matty wished to give us one of her brother's paintings."

Matty laughed a little, and smiled at the mother, "Your daughter puts it to plainly, my brother has painted Miss Amelia's portrait and we wish you, both of you," she specified, "to have it."

Amelia walked to her mother and gave her the painting, Mrs Walker looked at it carefully, her brow furrowed, "it is a lovely gesture, do you not think?" Amelia spoke quietly in front of her mother.

"Why has your brother painted this picture? I do not understand."

"It is a token of our friendship," Miss Matty explained, "we both enjoy Amelia's company so much."

"You have been sitting for this portrait?" Mrs Walker asked Amelia suspiciously.

She shook her head, "no." she said quickly, "it was a complete surprise," she said in earnest.

"We thought you would like it, Mrs Walker," Matty tried, "a portrait of your daughter, you could hang it with the one of your son," she suggested and she pointed to the portrait on the mantle and Mrs Walker looked up at it quickly then down at the present she held in her hands.

"Oh no," she said quietly, "we will find a separate place for this one," she smiled at her daughter and then at Matty, "Thank you very much," she said softly, "it was as Amelia says, a very nice gesture. You must thank your brother as well, he has captured her look quite perfectly I think."

"You're very welcome, I will do that," Miss Matty beamed and looked at Amelia who smiled nervously back, "I'll go now, Amelia was just worried that you would not accept our gift, what a silly girl she is. I knew you would like it, it is of her," she smiled, "your sweet girl."

"Thank you, Miss Jenkyns," Mrs Walker handed the portrait to her daughter and she walked to Miss Matty and escorted her to the door. Amelia listened to them both talking, Matty was laughing a soft girlish laugh and her mother was politely replying, she heard her mother say goodbye and then the door closed. Amelia had been looking at the painting painfully trying to memorise it because she had a horrible feeling that she would not see it again. She looked up at her mother when she entered the room again and the older woman took the painting from her.

"Where do the people in this village get their ideas from?" she said under her breath. "Why would they think this was acceptable?"

"They are older, mother, and -and they are a different sort of people. They probably thought nothing of it. It was a nice gesture."

"Gesture?" Mrs Walker scoffed, "Now we owe them something! How did you not realise this was being painted?" she looked at her daughter and raised an eyebrow.

Amelia shook her head in innocence, "I honestly had no idea!" she assured her mother. "I- I suppose we shall have to find a place for it."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs Walker said incredulously. "We are not hanging it! You are not dead! If I wish to look at you I may simply do so! We will put it in a drawer, and if they are invited to call then I shall hang it before they arrive." Mrs Walker carried the picture to her desk and opened a drawer, she looked at it under the light from the window and raised an eyebrow, "I must say he has captured your melancholic face quite perfectly. Your visits must be exhilirating."

"I am sorry you had to accept it," Amelia said quietly.

"I'm glad you're sorry," Mrs Walker locked the picture in her desk and folded her arms while looking at her daughter, "I expect you expressed some silly wish to be painted to give those two the idea. I just don't see how you had no idea it was being done," she said again and she shook her head and then sat on the sofa and said, "go and boil the kettle."


	6. Chapter 5: Walks

Chapter Five: Walks

Matty and Peter only enquired after the portrait once, it was the next time that Amelia visited them and they merely asked where they had decided to hang it. Amelia had told them that her mother had wanted to keep it in her own bedroom but that she was able to look at it herself every day when she brought her mother a cup of tea each morning. She had also told Peter how much her mother had admired the craftsmanship that had gone into the picture and that she'd thought he'd captured her likeness brilliantly. It was all lies of course, but the Jenkyns were never likely to go into Mrs Walker's bedroom and so they would never know that the beautiful painting was locked in a drawer in their living room where not even Amelia could appreciate the work that had gone into it. Peter had seemed very touched to hear that her mother had thought it was a good likeness which in fact was not a lie, of course Amelia decided to omit the detail that her mother had said he had captured her melancholy to a tee.

And so Amelia visited her friends more often than she had done in the past months, she did not always go empty handed though for she still felt strange for spending so much time with them and being unable reciprocate their selflessness.

* * *

"Look at this, look," Amelia said excitedly and she stood up and took the book to Peter at his desk where he too had been looking at a separate book of etchings, "it is a dome, another dome," she said pointing the drawing, "from 1268," she stressed, "my goodness, the technology." She put her hand to her face in amazement, "can you imagine what we were doing in 1268 and in India they already knew how to build domes!"

"I know," he said in amazement, "Europe had the Renaissance, India had amazing culture and we couldn't even sew someone's portrait unless they were standing sideways!" She laughed and he smiled, "but that is the disadvantage of this island culture," he told her, "even then we probably would have thought we were more advanced just because we had bows and arrows," he scoffed.

"We are more advanced," Matty said from the sofa, "industrially speaking," she clarified. Amelia sat back down on the sofa with the book.

"You are right in a way," she told Miss Matty, "these civilizations have all died out, it is only the tradition of religion that survives. But we are not more advanced than the people who carved these temples, I do not think so anyway."

"Amelia, you must learn not to think so much," Matty said quietly, "It is not becoming."

Amelia did not reply but looked down in shock at the book of etchings in her lap.

"I did like it better when you two talked about books all the time, even if I didn't understand it." Matty said in slight annoyance and she looked at Deborah's chair wondering what her sister would have to say to all this, she gasped in horror, there was a pile of books on the chair. She stood up, picked them up and put them roughly down on Peter's desk. He looked up at her in shock.

"There are too many books in this house," she said angrily at him and she looked up at the clock on the mantel, it was only ten past six but it seemed later.

"Matty, Matty," Peter stood up and touched her arms, she pulled away from him and folded her arms huffily, "You are tired, Matty, why did you not say?" he said soothingly.

"We can do this another time," Amelia offered nervously, "I- I'm sorry I stayed so long, Miss Matty. I got carried away." She began to pick the books up from around the sofa and Peter took them from her and put them on the desk. He smiled down at her in apology but Amelia just looked at Matty. "I am sorry, Miss Matty, please forgive me."

Matty shook her head in apology and she touched Amelia's hands, patted them gently. "I am sorry, Amelia, I should not have snapped like that. You- you are right I am tired. I went to see Mr Buxton today and now this as well, well, it- it is too much for me."

"You- you saw Mr Buxton?" Amelia said with interest, "you did not tell us."

"You did not ask," Matty pointed out softly and she smiled at Amelia's blush.

"I am so sorry, I- I am too easily distracted by all this. Mr Jenkyns is a bad influence on me." She joked a little, "I will leave you now to your rest."

She moved to the hallway and Matty pushed Peter after her. "I shall walk you home," he said automatically, she looked up at him in surprise.

"It is only a few houses away," she told him with a smile, "I have done it many times," she assured him.

"No, but it is dark now, it is autumn," he pointed out, "I would not be much of a gentleman if I did not offer."

"This is your doing, Miss Matty," Amelia looked past him and to his sister. "You do not need to," she said softly to Peter and she smiled up at him, "it is silly."

"I do need to, Miss Amelia," he stressed and his eyes widened a little as though he wished to tell her something important out of earshot, Amelia looked back at him with confusion and she shivered a little, she did not like his tone.

Peter closed the door behind them and he walked out into the cold with Amelia, the girl did not have a bonnet let alone a wrap, she had gloves but that was all, he walked quickly by her side out of the gate.

"This is silly," she tried again.

He ignored her and picked a flower that had begun to grow on the wrong side of his garden wall, he handed the little white climbing rose to Amelia who smiled at him in thanks.

"I need to tell you my sister is engaged to Mr Buxton," Peter said quickly under his breath.

"Really?" Amelia said excitedly, "Oh this is wonderful news!" she smiled, "he is a good match."

"She did not want to tell you," Peter explained, "because of what it would mean for our- this pastime we have developed. Your coming and reading through my books with me."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked nervously.

"Well, she shall not live here with me, and so- so I shall be on my own."

"Oh," Amelia said quietly in understanding, "and I shall not be allowed to visit you, on my own," she said quietly.

"I know, it is ridiculous," Peter scoffed but Amelia was silent as she walked face down to her front gate, the little flower in her hands that were clasped in front of her.

"I suppose everything comes to an end," she said quietly and she looked up at him, she shrugged nervously, "I do not think Miss Matty enjoyed it as much as we did- as I did, anyway," she said still quietly.

"I have enjoyed it very much," he told her, "this is not the end of our friendship, Miss Amelia," he assured her and he smiled down at her, "I- I do not know when she intends to announce the engagement- her friends do not know, I trust you not to tell them." She nodded as he spoke, "Perhaps we should tone it back down," he suggested and she looked up at him quizzically, "not talk so much about things Miss Matty does not understand," he explained, "that way when- when we do not see each other so often it will not matter," he finished.

Amelia looked up at him and swallowed nervously, she reached out and took his hand, he looked down at their hands and he smiled at them gratefully knowing that it was a big effort for her to touch somebody else even if she did have her gloves on. "Thank you for telling me," she said quietly and she let go of him, "I think it would have been harder if it was sprung on me," she looked up at him and tried to smile but it didn't work so she looked away again.

"You silly girl," he said affectionately, the same way she had heard him patronise his sister, "I will still lend you the books, this is not the end of your love affair with India," he stressed, "think of how impressed your brother will be when he returns and you know so much about the places he'll tell you about!" Amelia nodded and still did not look up at him. "Oh, don't be sad, Amelia," he said realising he'd put his foot in it again, "I am sure you will hear from him very soon."

* * *

Amelia took her friends a small painting the next time she called on them. She had given it a couple of days before visiting again so that Miss Matty who obviously had her mind on other things could calm down. Amelia planned to be calm too, she had thought about Peter's suggestions carefully and decided he was right, that they must be calm and benevolent for Miss Matty's sake.

Initially of course Amelia had felt saddened by the idea that they were not to continue the way they had been lately, but the more she thought about it the more she realised she had been quite selfish by making Matty listen to her brother's stories every time she came to visit and look through his books and paintings merely because she had the desire to hear about all the places her father and brother had been to. Miss Matty must have heard her brother's stories a hundred times before and Amelia knew she had been rude in not asking if Matty would prefer to do anything else. She could not believe she had been so selfish as not to ask after her day or her health, and it had turned out of course that it had been a very important day for her. She would keep that secret too, the fact that she knew of the engagement, Peter probably should not have told her but she was glad he had. If she had carried on behaving like a spoiled child when she visited them she probably would have ended up hurting Miss Matty's feelings as well as her own when it all suddenly stopped.

"Amelia, that is such a lovely little picture," Matty said to her and she placed the painting of the blue flowers in the centre of the mantel piece as she did each time Amelia brought her a new painting. "Now you can't tell me that there are forget-me-nots in your garden, you have painted this one from memory!" she smiled at her.

"I have painted it from a sketch I made a long time ago," Amelia admitted, "you are right though, there are no colours like that in our garden at this time of year."

"I am glad Peter is not here," Matty admitted with a smile as the two ladies sat and made themselves comfortable in front of the fire. "Though- though no doubt you wished to discuss something with him, a book or what have you," Matty added quickly but Amelia interrupted.

"No," she told her friend, "No, I have come to see you, Miss Matty," she blushed, "I am sorry for the way I have been behaving, I get so caught up in things some times, but I think I know quite enough about India now."

"Oh," Matty said with relief, "thank goodness!" She laughed a little and Amelia too tried to laugh but she did not like the way Matty was so relieved to hear it was over.

"I- I did not realise that you did not find it fascinating."

"Amelia, there is only so much one can take!" Matty laughed more and put her hand to her chest while she recovered. "I see Peter has finally bored you!" she joked.

Amelia swallowed and she shook her head even though she felt it would be easier just to agree. "I am not bored." She insisted, "I still find it very interesting, all of it. But I understand that it is not for everyone." Amelia swallowed and decided to change the subject, she smiled at Miss Matty and wondered how an ordinary girl would behave when hearing about a secret engagement, "You must tell me everything that happened when you went to see Mr Buxton."

And so Amelia sat and listened to Miss Matty talk about the lunch that she had had with Mr Buxton and Erminia, she did not talk about her engagement or even hint at it, but she did blush terribly when she spoke about the man in question and Amelia thought that spoke more words than she ever could. After half an hour or so of pleasant conversation Amelia decided she would leave Matty to her sewing and she would go and attend to her mother, she felt bad for realising it while Matty spoke so enthusiastically about her friends, but it was not Miss Matty who she had come to see as her best friend at all, but it was Mr Jenkyns.

Without Peter in the room Amelia felt as though something very important was missing, and it was, for it was him who she wanted to listen to and whom she wished to speak with. She felt rotten for realising that while listening to Miss Matty talk but she couldn't help but feel sad that he was not there. After all if the spinster really was engaged then Amelia would have many opportunities to listen to Matty talk when she called on her at Mr Buxton's home in the future, but she would not have many more opportunities to listen to Peter.

"Thank you, Miss Matty, I will," Amelia said down to her friend as she asked her to give her regards to her mother from the doorway, "And do tell Mr Jenkyns I was asking after him."

"Oh, you can tell him yourself, look here he is."

Amelia turned and looked at Peter who was at the gate, she felt the smile spread across her face as she saw him and she blushed terribly in embarrassment as she realised how silly she was being, she looked down at the ground as he approached and bowed her head to him.

"Amelia, you are leaving?" he asked as he joined her in front of their door.

"Yes," Amelia said softly, "Did you enjoy your walk?"

"What?" He asked in confusion but he nodded, "yes, yes," he said impatiently and he moved past her but turned to her and put out his hand, "do not go anywhere, I have something for you," he said seriously and Amelia stood and looked at Miss Matty who stood in the doorway still while he went up the stairs of their house not even pausing to take off his coat or hat.

Matty stood silently and smiled a little awkwardly at Amelia.

"Another book, perhaps." Amelia broke the silence as they waited.

"I expect so," Matty agreed and they stood and waited for him to return.

When Peter came back down the stairs he moved past his sister in the doorway and looked at her, "won't you give me a minute, Matty?" he asked as though she was intruding.

"Goodbye, Miss Matty," Amelia said absently but she was looking at the book in Peter's hands, she could see the title engraved into it and it made her heart race with excitement. It was the book he had been reading all those months ago when they first met.

She looked up at him and could not disguise the look of excitement on her flushed face. "You have finished it?" she asked though there was really no point her asking.

"I finished it a long time ago," he admitted, "it is not too long," he told her, "I just wasn't sure if it was the right sort of book to give to you."

"There are some themes you think I might find shocking?" she asked him raising her eyebrows and he shook his head.

"I think it would take more than a few passionate sentences to shock you, Miss Amelia," he smiled at her and she blushed. "I'm sorry I missed you today," he told her, "promise me you'll try and take your time with this book."

"I promise," she told him.

The gate creaked open and Miss Pole stood looking at them, a suspicious look etched on her pink face, Amelia curtseyed and Peter smiled warmly and bowed to the little woman. "Good afternoon, Miss Pole," he said to her enthusiastically. "How are you today? And how is my Polly doing?" he asked interestedly.

"That bird is nothing but trouble," Miss Pole said shortly, "sometimes I think it laughs at me, that is not genteel behaviour." Amelia stifled a small laugh and Miss Pole glared at her, "Miss Walker," she said shortly and Amelia bowed her head.

"Miss Pole," she said back and then she looked up at Peter and back at the woman in front of her, "Good day, Mr Jenkyns, Miss Pole," she said quietly and she decided to leave with her book before any more parrot-focused small talk was made.

* * *

Sunday came again and Amelia took her constitutional on the tops, she had been tempted to take her book with her but as it was now nearing winter and the paths she walked much less sheltered than those in the town she decided it would be rather foolish to try to read up in the wind. She might get carried away and catch pneumonia without realising, or worse the pages could tear in the wind and she would never forgive herself for ruining Peter's book.

And what a book it was, Peter had not been lying. It was as much an adventure story as the two books he had given her to lighten her mood those weeks ago but it was dark and terrifying. Even after reading it for a couple of nights Amelia did not know who the hero was, it seemed every character was so flawed and real yet they were characters that could not possibly have existed all those years ago, could they?

She did not spend all her time reading the book however because she had promised him that she wouldn't, she wondered what he would have her do instead? Probably exactly what she was doing, taking the air and walking in the countryside. It was a good thing too she thought that she did not let herself become absorbed for it was quite frightening in a macabre way and so venturing out into the pretty English countryside was a way for her to reassure herself that it was not all horror in the world.

The winter was on them, it was November in Cranford and the wind was biting, Amelia wrapped her little shawl tightly around her shoulders and walked back down the hillside that led back to the village, she had not passed her usual Sunday-walkers, perhaps it was getting to the time of year when for exercise one simply walks around the garden a couple of times before dashing into the warm parlour. Amelia did not think it was that chilly yet but she had forgotten that most of the inhabitants of Cranford were older and so felt the cold more.

As she neared the bottom of the hill she saw a familiar figure walking up the hill towards her. Her face lit up in a smile for it was Peter Jenkyns, he smiled too at seeing her and he held his hat in the wind as he climbed to join her and stopped to talk. Amelia held her shawl tightly and looked up at him, "It is a little windy, up there," she told him in a voice louder than the one she usually used, she wanted to be sure he heard her. "Do not get cold, Peter," she said with concern and she blushed at her slip of addressing him so familiarly, he did not notice however and he nodded.

"Do you often walk on the tops, Amelia?" he asked her still holding onto his hat.

"Yes, often twice or three times a week, did you think all I did was sit and read?" she grinned a little and he laughed and shrugged.

"I thought you might in this weather."

"I am enjoying the book very much."

"Oh, I am glad," he said and he rolled his eyes, "I wasn't sure if you would to be honest! It was a story that had a great effect on me."

"I am only a third in," she said above the roar of the wind. "It is too early I think for me to discuss what I think, only that it seems full of very tragic people."

"Reassuring, eh?" he raised and lowered his eyebrows and smiled.

"Oh- I would not say that," she admitted. "I love how he writes of the architecture," she told him, "I feel you waited until I was passionate about buildings like you are, Mr Jenkyns, before you gave me this book."

"The cathedral is the most reliable character I think," Peter smiled and he looked up at the path.

"You- I'll leave you to your walk," Amelia told him but she paused, "unless- unless you would permit me to accompany you," she tried.

"Amelia, don't talk rot," he smiled, "you have just been on a walk, and besides you are not properly dressed, go home and get yourself in front of a fire, you mad girl." He laughed a little and Amelia's cheeks that were already stung red from the cold air blushed a little more as she smiled and nodded.

"Do not stay out too long," she told him, "It is already getting dark."

"I am quite grown-up, Amelia," he pointed out, "I know how to look after myself."

She blushed again and lowered her eyes to the ground. "Good day, Mr Jenkyns."

"Good day, Amelia," he said down to her and he watched her walk away before he shook his head and continued up the hillside path.

* * *

Amelia closed the door behind her and took off her shawl, bonnet and then her gloves; she folded them neatly and placed them inside the bonnet before crossing the hallway and heading for the stairs. Before she began to climb them however she heard a shrill sound from underneath the parlour door that could not have been her mother's voice, she raised an eyebrow and walked from the foot of the stairs instead to the parlour door, which she opened.

"Oh!" Amelia said in surprise after she opened the door to see her mother taking tea with a guest, she blushed and curtseyed a little to their visitor, "Good afternoon, Miss Pole," she said politely and she smiled, "I did not know my mother had company, are you well?"

Miss Pole looked up at Amelia and smiled very briefly before replying curtly, "I am quite well, thank you."

Amelia smiled and waited a moment in case Miss Pole should say anything else, she did not. "Can I fetch you anything?" Amelia asked her mother instead, "more tea perhaps?" she suggested.

"No thank you, Amelia, we are quite fine without you."

Amelia nodded and smiled again at Miss Pole before turning back to the door, before she left she turned once more and said, "if I had known you were coming I should not have taken my walk," she tried, "I would have liked to have been here," she said honestly and Miss Pole seemed to nod a little but she still did not smile. Amelia nodded once more and left the room closing the door behind her.

She heard the soft rumble of her mother's voice speaking quickly to her guest almost as soon as she had started to climb the stairs. She could not make out what she was saying and she felt sure they were probably not talking about her but still she felt paranoid and excluded. She went to her room and set down her bonnet, shawl and gloves before picking up her book and sitting on her bed to read it and escape once more.

* * *

"Miss Matty," Miss Pole spoke under her breath as her friend let her into her house, "Is your brother at home?" she asked in hushed tones.

"No, he has gone out for the air. I was going to do the same-" Miss Matty started, but she was cut off by her flustered guest.

"I had a feeling he would not be here," she said in a worried tone. "Miss Matty, you must allow me to break some shocking news to you."

Matty followed Miss Pole into her living room where the little woman seemed to be too moved to speak, "Can I get you a glass of water?" she asked helpfully.

"No thank you, Miss Matty, water will be of no use to me."

"Sit down then," Matty smiled and motioned her friend towards a chair.

Miss Pole flapped Matty's arms away and she stared desperately at the other woman, "No, no," she said quickly, "this is important, this is not gossip!" she stressed, "Not that I ever indulge in tittle-tattle," she added. "It is about your brother," she stressed.

"Peter? What- what about him?" she asked in concern.

"He is in danger of being," Miss Pole swallowed and nervously glanced around the room before finishing, "seduced."

Miss Matty laughed at her small friend and covered her mouth and stopped as she saw the red fury in Miss Pole's cheeks.

"I am deadly serious!" Miss Pole said angrily. "I have just spent the last hour in Mrs Walker's company, she is a poor woman with a burden."

"You think Mrs Walker is going to try and seduce my brother?" Matty asked in amazement, "she has barely said two words to him in all the time we have been friends with her daughter."

"It is the daughter," Miss Pole said furiously, "not Mrs Walker, Miss Walker," she stressed still. "Mrs Walker has told me why they had to leave their last home, it was because of the daughter." She whispered.

"I, I don't understand," Miss Matty said honestly, "she is a lovely girl."

"It turns out she is not! My suspicions started last week when I saw them talking together and again a few days ago right on your very doorstep. Have you never noticed the way she looks at your brother?"

"She respects him," Matty said quickly, "she does not have a father," she added but she did remember the odd occasion a few days ago when her brother had asked to be private with Amelia, but they had only been in the garden, nothing squalid could have been said in plain view of the whole village, the idea was preposterous.

"She is a very troubled girl," Miss Pole shook her head, "her mother has given up on her."

Miss Matty spoke defensively, even though she knew that Amelia did not always behave like a normal girl, "she is my friend, and what you're saying is ridiculous!"

"She was out walking while I was there, you think it a coincidence that your brother was also out of your sight?" Miss Pole sat down now and talked furiously, "Mrs Walker told me this in confidence but I think it is only right I tell you, Miss Matty, as you are one of my oldest friends and I know you would not want scandal on your house."

"Scandal?" Miss Matty shook her head in disbelief but she sat down too and held her hands tightly in her lap.

"Miss Walker was involved with a man where the Walkers last lived."

"Engaged?" Matty asked hopefully and Miss Pole shook her head.

"No." she said finitely, "apparently Miss Walker had no intention of getting married, she saw this man in secret, it would have ruined her mother and her dear brother- the boy in India who is supporting them. Mrs Walker moved her to Cranford hoping there would be no temptation here for the girl's," Miss Pole paused and closed her eyes in disgust, "appetites."

"You- you cannot be talking about the same girl," Matty said in disbelief.

"It was the mother who told me this!"

"And you honestly think Amelia has designs on my brother?"

"Your brother is a very handsome man!"

"But not to- to a girl her age!"

"I have told you of her character, do you think age means anything to a person like that?"

"This is ridiculous," Matty said again, "I cannot believe you," she shook her head, "her mother must have been lying."

"Lying?" Miss Pole said incredulously.

"Yes," Matty said finitely, "lying. Amelia is a sweet and timid girl. She has hardly any friends, she sees my brother as a father because she has none of her own. He will tell you that himself."

"You do not think then that he has feelings for her?"

"Of course not," Matty snapped quickly but she blushed and thought about all the times she had worried that her brother might like their young friend's company just a little too much.

"You do not know him like you think you do," Miss Pole pointed out, "he has been away for years, decades. You do not know his character anymore than you do hers. But I know you love him and would not want him to do anything he'd regret. Just be wary Miss Matty."

Matty stood up and looked down at her guest. "I wish you had not told me this, especially as it was told you in confidence. There must be a reason why Mrs Walker told you such fabrications, but I cannot think why, it sounds to me like she is the one who is troubled." Miss Pole too stood up and Miss Matty folded her arms, "I think you should go home now and not repeat this to anyone."

"Ask him where he was this afternoon."

Matty raised her eyebrows but said nothing, she just watched Miss Pole leave her house.

When she was alone she sat down on the sofa and she shook her head in disbelief. The only conclusion she could reach in her mind was that Mrs Walker, the solitary reserved woman who lived along the road had told Miss Pole the unbelievable tale just to wind up the gossip. But no one would joke about something so serious, especially not about their own daughter, such gossip would ruin Amelia's reputation, why would her mother do that to her? Unless really it was the truth… and that the isolated Mrs Walker was naïve enough to believe that Miss Pole would keep her secret.

It could not be the truth. Amelia's character was so far removed from that of the kind of woman Miss Pole had described, she looked much more they type that had had her heart broken and could not trust again than one who was free with her love. Matty had seen the way Amelia looked at her brother but she had convinced herself that the obvious affection was a form of respect, she knew that the two shared things that she could never share with her brother but she had assumed that they were the sort of things a father and daughter bonded over, not a friendship that would lead to romance. If Amelia really did seek to seduce her brother what would happen to them all?

Later that afternoon Peter returned from his walk, he had been out of the house for nearly two hours, Matty wondered if Miss Amelia was now returning to her home after being away for that long too, if they had been secretly walking together, or worse, not walking at all. "Hello," he smiled down at her in her chair and he moved to the door that lead to the kitchen, "shall I make you a cup of tea?" he asked and then he noticed her serious look, "oh, or something stronger?" he suggested, "you all right, Matty?" he asked softly.

"Where have you been?" she looked up at him seriously.

"I- I walked up on the tops," he said calmly, "I thought I told you I was going out?"

"Did you see anyone while you were walking?"

"No," he answered and looked down at her with concern, "well, Miss Amelia was walking too- walking back though just before I reached the stream," he smiled, "so I spoke to her for a few minutes, but no, no one."

"She is well?"

"She seemed to be," Peter smiled but looked down at his sister, "are you sure I can get you nothing?" he tried, "light the fire maybe?" he offered, "You look cold sitting there, Matty."

She shook her head, "Did you talk to her for long?"

Peter shrugged, "Not really, she," he laughed a little, "she said she'd walk with me, but she'd been walking all morning so I told her not to be so silly. I think she is lonely in that house with her mother."

Matty nodded a little and said; "I will have that cup of tea, Peter, thank you." Peter smiled and left her alone again. Matty swallowed nervously and didn't know what to think, was it Amelia's mother who was naïve or was it her own brother?

But surely it was not naivety to think that a young girl was lonely and would rather walk the countryside with an old man than sit at home alone? Peter was right to think nothing of it, but then, he didn't know what Miss Matty now knew. Matty came to a decision as her little brother came back into the room with a cup of tea and a biscuit for her, she would not tell him anything that she had heard, but she would make sure that he was never left alone with Amelia again, and it would not hurt to reduce the amount of time they spent with her, Peter probably wouldn't even notice.


	7. Chapter 6: Reality

Chapter Six: Reality

Amelia closed the book and looked down at the red cloth binding, she had never read such a book as that. It had taken her longer to read than any other book she had encountered, another five days had passed since she had spoken to Peter briefly on the hillside. It had taken time because it was in French and she wanted to make sure she understood every line and because of course Peter had told her to take her time with it, but now she had finished it she wanted to talk about it.

She had spent the nights of the last week reading it religiously. It must have been past midnight when she finished and blew out what was left of the candle. She knew her mother would be angry with her for wasting the light like that but it had not felt like a waste at all. She had read the most amazing story, a story like nothing out of England or out of France that she had encountered before, it was not full of characters and amusing observations like the Dickens' she had read in her youth, and it was not fantasy or swashbuckling adventure like other French novels she had read. It was romantic and it was tragic and it was exciting.

In her bed in the darkness she thought about how she would call on the Jenkyns' the next day and talk to Peter about the book, he had told her it was a book that had had great effect on him, she wondered if they had been affected the same way. She doubted it. She wondered if he thought she was like the girl in the story, innocent and barefoot. She didn't know which character she identified more with, the poor girl who had her heart broken or the strange creature who no one but the girl would ever love. She wondered what Peter had liked best about the story, she hoped it was the same as her, the vivid descriptions of Paris.

She would take his book back the next morning and she would ask him then. She tried to sleep but the haunting description of the two skeletons stayed in her mind, only the French could write something so macabre and make it sound so romantic.

* * *

Matty opened the door to see Amelia standing there her arms full of books- as well as the spectacular novel she had bought a history book of Peter's and a small book of comical verse, they were books she had not returned in the past. "Good morning, Miss Matty," she smiled, "you look nice today," she looked at her friend's youthful curls and wondered if Matty was to see Mr Buxton, her secret fiancé, later that morning.

"Hello, Amelia," Matty said but she didn't open the door enough to allow the girl into the house, "I'm afraid I'm not really at the liberty to entertain just now, Peter has work he wishes to get on with."

"Of course," Amelia smiled, "only I've just finished the books he leant me and I hoped we could discuss them," she laughed a little and looked down at the books in her arms, "When do you think he will be finished?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Matty tried, "This is a project he wished to get underway a month or two ago but he has not been using his time wisely." Matty swallowed, "He said he wishes to concentrate on his work now."

"Oh," Amelia said but she still smiled, "perhaps in a couple of days I shall call again then," she offered.

Matty nodded a little, "maybe," she said. "You are returning his books?" she asked.

"Yes," Amelia agreed, "shall I set them in your parlour?"

"That won't be necessary, here, let me take them," Matty tried to take the books.

"Do not be silly," Amelia insisted but the older woman took them from her. "if- if you're sure," Amelia tried. But Matty stood and held the pile of books in her doorway.

"I'll say goodbye now, Miss Amelia," she said and Amelia nodded and smiled though Matty hadn't smiled once while they had been talking to one another.

"Goodbye," by the time the word had come out of her mouth Miss Matty had closed the door. Amelia wondered what was wrong, what Peter was working on to make his sister too scared to let anyone in the house.

She walked home and sat down in her living room wondering when her mother would get up and if she would be nice today or angry.

* * *

Three days later Amelia was sure that Peter would be finished working and that Miss Matty would not be so hostile. She tried again and this time Matty shook her head, "we cannot see anyone today, I am going to see Miss Pole and Peter has stressed that he's not to be disturbed. I'm sorry."

"Of- of course," Amelia smiled, "Let me walk you to Miss Pole's house, Miss Matty, perhaps we can catch up at least briefly. It must be a week since I last really spoke to you."

"I have to change my dress, Miss Amelia," she said and shook her head, "it will take me some time."

"Oh, all right," Amelia said acceptingly. "Did Mr Jenkyns get his books?" she asked as she sensed the door was going to close on her again. "If- if I'd have known he was so busy I would have put a card in with them," she joked.

"Yes, I gave them back to him."

"Will you tell him I enjoyed them very much."

"Of course," Matty smiled and Amelia did too.

* * *

More days passed before Amelia decided that a Sunday was the best day to visit them because it was a day of rest, Peter would surely not be working then and Miss Matty would not object to the gift Amelia had prepared. She had baked them a tray of shortbread, which she had not done since the brother and sister had insisted she stop baking them things and that she was welcome in their home without always bringing them presents. It was the day they had given her the portrait Peter had painted of her, she hadn't seen it since as her mother had been insulted by it and locked it in her desk drawer. Amelia remembered her mother saying that she looked depressed in the picture but Amelia had not thought that at all when she had unwrapped it. She had looked at it and seen herself looking back, serious and grown-up but with a calm, thoughtful look on her face. She had thought then that Peter must have seen that in her, must have known that she was not a smiling, laughing young thing, but the serious person she wanted to be when she was around him. She found everything he said so interesting, he was more interesting than anyone else she had ever met and more intelligent. It had made her heart beat fast and she did not know why to see that he saw her like that, not silly or foolish which she knew she was sometimes, but calm and thoughtful, maybe someone worthy to talk to.

It was Sunday afternoon, all Miss Matty had to do was make the tea. She knocked on their door once more and she smiled at Miss Matty who answered the door looking very pretty in her Sunday best, Amelia handed her the basket, "I know you told me not to, but I thought perhaps you might forgive me," she joked warmly knowing that Miss Matty adored shortbread.

"No, no thank you," Miss Matty did not take the basket. "I'm very grateful Miss Amelia, but I can't accept this. I am still not to disturb him with visitors."

"I can't even come in and talk quietly to you?" Amelia tried another small joke but she felt her smile fade. "you- Miss Matty, you cannot come then for a walk with me?"

"Oh, that's nice of you, but no. No, Amelia, I am too tired for that."

"Are you both well, Miss Matty?" she asked in concern, "please tell your brother I asked after his health," she said quietly as Matty nodded her head. "Please," she tried again and she put the basket into Matty's hands, "it is a gift for you."

Amelia nodded insisting that she take the biscuits and then she curtseyed and said goodbye. She walked not straight home this time but to the general stores in the centre of the village where she passed Miss Pole and her friend Mrs Forester who smiled back at Amelia when she bowed her head, but they did not stop to say hello though Amelia stopped and opened her mouth to speak. Miss Pole took her friend by the arm and pulled her past the confused Amelia who shook her head and stepped into the shop.

"Hello, Miss Walker," Mrs Johnson smiled at her when she came into the shop. "Nothing for your mother today," she said apologetically with a smile and Amelia smiled back and wondered absently what her mother must have ordered from the shop.

"I should like to buy a candle," Amelia said realising she could not simply stand in their shop because she had nowhere else to go.

"Just the one?" Mrs Johnson spoke, Amelia nodded.

"I read all night by mine last week and I haven't told my mother, I don't think she'd like it."

"You naughty thing," Mrs Johnson handed her the candle, "I shan't tell her," Amelia handed her a penny and took the candle before deciding to look around the shop at all the brightly coloured fabrics and then the boxes stacked up the walls. Amelia found herself looking at the window display that Mrs Johnson had arranged so that it looked attractive from both sides; inside the shop and out, she admired the detail that the shopkeeper's wife had put into sewing each patch so carefully when she saw far across the road through the window Miss Matty Jenkyns welcoming Miss Pole, Mrs Forester and Miss Tomkinson into her house. She moved away from the window and wondered why her friend hadn't told her the truth. Surely Peter was avoiding his sister's friends by hiding in his room, understandable as he had expressed his feelings towards them many times, but why had Miss Matty not invited Amelia to join her friends for afternoon tea or whatever it was they were doing?

Amelia took her candle and walked out of the shop with the intention of going home and making Miss Matty a card apologising for anything she had done when she stopped in the road and watched as young Erminia Whyte and her guardian Mr Buxton walked up the Jenkyns' garden path followed by Peter Jenkyns who held a large box in his arms, Amelia was too far away to hear anything that was being said but she could hear Erminia's musical laugh carry over the village right into her ears. There was a party of some sort happening at her dearest friends' house and she had not been invited.

Amelia walked quickly to her front door and hoped that no one would see her. But of course no one would, because they were all at the Jenkyns' house having a good time.

She had excused herself after preparing her mother's dinner and sitting with her while she ate it. She did not eat anything herself and she told her mother who was suspicious of this that she did not feel well and that she wished to go to bed and so not let her mother catch whatever it was that she might be coming down with. And so she was alone again, alone for the first time since she saw the guests arriving at her friends' house, really alone again.

She undressed for bed, when she got under the covers she cried quietly and hoped that her mother wouldn't hear her. She felt extremely foolish for letting herself grow close to the brother and sister who lived up the road. When she had moved with her mother to the village she had told herself not to make friends or to trust anyone, but everyone had seemed so kind, and they were mostly old widows and spinsters, not malicious sorts.

The thing she felt the worst about though, the reason she cried into her hands beneath the sheets of her bed at half past seven on Sunday evening was not that her friends had decided they did not want to know her. It wasn't that Miss Matty had been cold to her on the doorstep of her house and turned her away three times now. It was the old man whose company she had come to look forward to so much. She had not seen him in two weeks, she had not heard him say that he did not want to see her. She hadn't realised it, not even when he had presented her with the painting and her heart had raced at seeing it, but now that she knew he didn't want to see her, she knew she loved Peter Jenkyns and he had broken her heart.

She knew it was ridiculous to be in love with a man who, when they had been friends, must have seen her as a daughter, he was so much older than she was, but Amelia knew that that must have been the first thing that attracted her to him, that he was older and wiser and safe. He was kind and gentle, he spoke softly and he smiled warmly, but the thing she loved most was that they talked, they had so many things to talk about, he had so many things to tell her and she had loved listening and learning. She had looked forward to talking to him, every day she woke up and wondered when she would see him and what they would talk about, and now she knew they wouldn't talk about anything because she must have said or done something awful to make him want to cut her out of his life.

Or maybe this was what he meant when he had said to her those weeks ago that they would 'tone down' their friendship, so it would not hurt when they no longer saw each other. She had not realised that he meant cut it short even before Miss Matty announced her engagement. And that must have been what had been happening at their house that afternoon, an engagement party of some sort that she had not been invited to.

Amelia calmed down under the covers and put her head back on the pillows in her candlelit room and she looked at the tiny stump of a candle that she had used while she read his book, she couldn't think what she had done or said but she knew it was her fault. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him, she tried hard and thought about having bumped into him on her Sunday walk a fortnight ago. They had discussed what she thought of the book so far and he had laughed his deep rumbling laugh. And before that he had told her that if she ever read the book he would relate more similar stories, that he might even read aloud to both Amelia and Miss Matty in the firelight as they were short but scary fantasies and the women would need to have one another there in case they got too frightened. She remembered every expression on his handsome face. It was a handsome face; even if he was older she could see that he was still handsome and that in his youth he must have been something very special, the painting on their mantelpiece showed that. Amelia sat in her bed and reached for the handle of the bedside drawer, she opened it, inside the drawer was a copy of the Bible, she took it out and opened it. In the back of the book was a collection of sketches she had made over the years. She kept them flat and secret between the pages, there were flowers and trees and there were a couple of her mother but at the back were the small sketches she had done of him. She looked at them sadly and wondered why it had taken heartbreak for her to admit to herself how much she cared for him.

She had kissed him once, kissed his cheek as though it did not mean what it really meant to her. She had kissed both siblings in thanks for the gift of the portrait that she hadn't seen since, kissed his sister and then stood up, walked to him and kissed his cheek. She wondered if while he had been painting her portrait from memory the way she could draw him without seeing him, wondered if he had thought of her at all in anything like the way she thought of him. He can't have done. Not to cast her aside so easily. Not unless that's just the way men are, all men, even him.

* * *

Amelia woke up early the next morning, she felt horribly sad and she cried against her pillows, a night's sleep had not helped her come to terms with her new but all too familiar emotions. She had dreamt horrible things, things that she had managed not to think about for the last happy months. And the combination of nightmares, bad memories and new feelings of heartbreak had made her weep when she woke to the dark winter morning.

But it was not her place to feel heartbreak, she told herself she was a foolish little girl and that if Peter could see her cry because of his actions he would not feel pity for her he would think it was ridiculous and he would talk down to her as he sometimes did to his sister, but it would not be affectionate like it was with Miss Matty it would be in that harsh voice he sometimes used when he was arguing a point.

She dressed for the day and walked quietly down the stairs to be in the kitchen and start the fire burning in the stove, it was cold down there but she did not feel it much, she did not care anymore.

Was it because of something she'd done? She did not understand it. She wept in the kitchen as she sat by the warm stove, was it because she knew of Miss Matty's engagement? But she had kept her word and said nothing! Amelia felt like she was going mad. She felt as horrible and confused as she had in the early summer before they had moved to Cranford, she shuddered as she cried and tried not to think of her nightmares. She wrung her hands and tried to think of anything but that. The kettle whistled loudly startling her and she stood up and made her mother's tea automatically, she stopped thinking about the past and the present and instead focused on the menial task of tea making, though her hands shook as she carried the cup and saucer through the house and up the stairs she felt better for the task and she decided she would clean the house after she had made her mother's breakfast.

* * *

Amelia had gone so long without thinking about the reason why she and her mother had moved to the little village of Cranford that she felt she must have convinced herself, as her mother had done at the time, that none of it had ever happened.

But as she stood at her mother's desk early that morning with the letters in her hands it all was made so horribly real that she had been sick with it and her body now shook all over as her eyes scanned the letters in disbelief. For the letters she had seen her mother pour over night after night these last few weeks had not been the old letters she thought they were at all, they were new letters. Her mother had been receiving letters, and so she must have also been writing them.

If Amelia hadn't thought she would die from heartbreak she now felt sure she would die from the betrayal of her mother.

She had only opened the drawer so she might look at the portrait once more. As she had quietly turned the key and pulled out the painting her mother's letters had fallen out onto the floor. She had quickly picked them up and pushed them back into the desk wanting only to see her portrait. To check if it had ever existed, if there had ever been a person who seemed to know her so well that he could paint her from memory. And yet the letters she pushed back into the drawer were not from India, not from her father or brother all those years ago, they were crisp and new and with English postmarks. Amelia recognised the hand with fear and she quickly set aside the portrait as her past came flooding back into her mind and suddenly the foolishness of her wanting to see a painting done by a kindly old man was so far apart from the real horror in her life.

She stood and read the letters, there were three of them, all short but to the point. All about her, and all lies. Amelia felt as though she could not breathe as she read them. Could her mother possibly believe what was written? Why was she being written to? Was their address known?

She could take it no longer, she ran from the house and out into the village, it was all dark and calm out there, people had not yet woken for the day, they had not seen the calm blue sky or the frost on the grass, the escape of the British countryside. The girl ran through the village to the edge of it, up the familiar hillside and over the tops. When she could no longer see the village behind her she fell apart, fell to her knees and wept. She had no friends and no family and once again she had no escape.

* * *

"So, you have come back?"

Amelia stood in the doorway shivering as she looked up at her mother. Her fingers were almost blue with the cold, she had not stayed up on the icy hillside long, the stream that ran through the hills was far too shallow for her to even attempt drowning herself, but it had not occurred to her to try. She had wept and shivered and shook on those hillsides that morning but by early afternoon she had come back to her home to face her mother.

Only her mother could answer her questions and only her mother was tied to her in blood, she could only hope that despite her betrayal and mistrust that she might feel something for her daughter. After all Amelia looked after her, cooked and cleaned like a maid, read to her and cared about her, she could not have hated her.

"Mother," Amelia opened her mouth and she felt the tears in her eyes.

"You bad girl," Mrs Walker said angrily and tears too formed in the older woman's eyes, "how dare you go through my private things?"

"I am sorry," Amelia stressed painfully and quietly. "I know I should not have, I only-"

"Only what?" Mrs Walker snapped, "if you wanted to read our letters you need only have asked! Maybe then," she sighed painfully, "maybe then I would know that you were getting better. That us moving to this awful place was worth while, that you are getting better like you said you would try to do!"

"I- I was better," Amelia stressed, "I- I like it here, I am happy here."

"You have not been so these past few days."

"That- that is different, I have forgotten that now," Amelia said truthfully, for it was all unimportant, what was important was that she and her mother were happy and safe, everything had suddenly been put into perspective.

"You are only happy when you are in the company of men," he mother spat at her and Amelia drew in a sharp breath and cried painfully.

"Mother, how- how can you say that?" she wept.

"I know that you spend all your time with that woman and her brother, I hear that it is not the sister you are friends with at all but the man."

"No, no!" Amelia protested, "I swear, I swear mother, that is a lie. And- and they are neither of them my friends any longer, I want only to be with you."

"You do not propose to move me again?"

"No, of- of course not," Amelia said quietly, "I only mean that I love you Mother, that I am happy only with you, I- I will do anything you say, I swear."

Mrs Walker looked down at her child painfully and her face broke and softened a little. "My poor girl," she said painfully and Amelia wept and walked into her mother's embrace. "What am I to do with you?"

Amelia cried and held onto her mother tightly, "I am sorry, I am so sorry," she wept, "Mother, please do not write anymore, please, I am begging you."

Her mother stroked her cold hair gently and held her tightly, she nodded and Amelia felt the relief course through her like warmth and she felt safe again.

* * *

They were quiet together. Amelia spent the next week being quiet and close to her mother, staying in front of the fire with her all day and drawing and painting her portrait while her mother knitted and read the papers that Amelia fetched each day for her.

She cooked and cleaned but with extra care to be attentive and kind to the woman who had done everything for her, she did not wish to leave the house ever again. It was only when Mrs Walker told her to take a small constitutional that Amelia dutifully did so. She looked pale and wan with dark circles around her eyes but she was full of relief that the horrible things that had happened to her were once more in the past and pushed to the very back of her mind.

She did not mistake relief for happiness of course, she found that she could not remember happiness though she had been happy for a great many weeks a short time ago. At night when she was alone in her bed Amelia allowed herself to look at the drawings of Peter Jenkyns and she wondered if she would see him again and if she would ever feel the same happiness she had felt in his company. She doubted she would now, not after what she had been through.

At night she cried and thought of her life in Cranford and how the past had managed to ruin that as well, she wished that she could persuade her mother to move again, somewhere isolated, as they had been before. She did not want to be near people or places that she associated with a nearly unimaginable happiness, it made her too sad.

* * *

"Don't you think you should go and call on one of your old lady friends?" Mrs Walker said to Amelia one morning as she caught her daughter staring vacantly into the fire. She looked up and shook her head. "You have been inside with me for nearly two weeks," she pointed out, "even when we lived at home you needed your time away at least every second day."

"It is different now," Amelia assured her, "I am grown-up and I want only to stay with you."

"It will be awkward the next time you see someone in the shop and you have no explanation to why you have been so cold."

"It will be awkward for them, not me," Amelia insisted.

"Amelia," Mrs Walker said her name in concern, "You look terrible, you have been unwell these last weeks, that is all I can think of. You can tell people you have been unwell."

"You- do you want me to leave you?" Amelia said unsurely and her heart beat painfully in her chest.

"You know I need my time alone. I know you mean it to be affectionate, but- but it is smothering. You are smothering me, Amelia." Her mother sighed and Amelia swallowed nervously. "You do not want to leave me, because you do not trust your own mother, I know this is the reason." She said resignedly.

"No, no, "Amelia said quickly and she coughed and tried to soften her tone, "that is not the reason, Mother, I thought- I believed you wanted my company."

"I keep my own company, Amelia, you know that."

Amelia nodded wearily, "Yes, yes I know," she said quietly, "I will go then," she looked up at her mother for approval and her mother smiled, "I shall go and visit one of my friends."


	8. Chapter 7: Gossip

Chapter Seven: Gossip

Amelia did not have any friends. She had instead taken a long walk, she planned to tell her mother that she had spent the late morning and early afternoon with the Browns. She had never called on them before and she had not today but she thought perhaps she might in the future. She had decided while on her walk that she would have to try to make new friends, never close friends of course, but people she could call on, people her mother would approve of. She remembered absently that she had heard Mrs Brown talk about a daughter from her first marriage, Amelia would enquire when she saw them after her daughter's health and if she ever planned on visiting the village. It was normal behaviour, Amelia thought, to ask after others her own age, though really she had no interest in anyone, her own age or otherwise. Though the daughter lived in Scotland and was probably married Amelia was hopeful that even showing an interest could spark a friendship between herself and the Browns. She told herself to be hopeful anyway, she had a suspicion that she would not be welcomed into their private world, the Browns, though older, were newlyweds and so involved in each other that Amelia knew in her heart that she would never achieve any sort of close friendship with them. Not like the friendship she believed she had had with the brother and sister who lived at the end of the road. But that was fine, because she didn't want to risk another friendship like that one, that friendship had caused her too much pain.

Amelia did not want any new friendships if she was honest, but she knew that she could not sit in her room all day everyday just to give her mother time alone. It would bring her mother peace only if Amelia was out behaving like a normal person, calling on friends and taking them cakes or biscuits. If Amelia was honest she wanted only to curl up in her bed and be asleep peacefully without dreaming.

Everything had gone from her new life and it held no appeal, even reading was something she felt she never wanted to do again. If she had not spent so much time reading then she might have noticed her mother's need for attention and so the lapse would not have happened and they would be content reading only newspapers and Thackery.

Walking back into the small village Amelia bowed her head to passers-by, she found she could not smile at them, she could not even look them in the eye. She was only a short distance from her gate when she saw, for the first time in nearly four weeks Peter Jenkyns walking alone on the other side of the road that ran through Cranford. She lowered her head quickly after she had looked at him painfully for a little too long. He had only been walking but he seemed to Amelia like some distant picture so far removed from her that it was like looking into a dream, her heart beat painfully in her chest and she wished to go home but yet she stared at him and wanted to be near him and feel the warmth of his character even though he had made it quite clear he was through with being warm towards her. She turned her sad eyes to the ground but it was too late, he had seen her and his eyes seemed to light up in that old familiar way, he was crossing the road to speak to her, she felt sure of it. She stopped still, frozen to the spot and looked up at him as he smiled down at her. His smile was as joyful as it had been all the times she had been so interested in the stories he had told in his parlour with his sister and a pot of tea between the three of them. Amelia felt horribly uncomfortable as she tried to smile politely back at him, the corners of her mouth hurt, why had he crossed the road?

"Miss Amelia," he said her name enthusiastically and she smiled a little but she did not look at his face, "what a happy chance meeting!" he beamed at her.

"Mr Jenkyns," she said quietly, and she swallowed and looked up at him, "why- why do you say that?" she said softly.

He smiled still but his dark eyebrows narrowed in confusion, "Why do I say that it is a happy chance?" he repeated and he laughed and moved his hands to hers but she did not let him take them, she flinched away and looked up at him sorrowfully.

"Please, do not laugh at me," she tried to say calmly but she swallowed and looked down at the ground to stop her sadness from showing.

"I- I am sorry," he said in earnest and shock at her reaction, "I am merely pleased to see you- it, it has been far too long since you paid us a visit. We have not seen you for- well, it must be weeks." He spoke very softly and glanced around the street, there were so many busybodies in the village he did not want rumours spread that he had been seen causing Miss Walker to cry in public, even if they were true.

Amelia looked up at him in shock, "I do not understand," she said shaking her head, "I- I thought you did not want my friendship any longer?"

"Why would you think that?" he said sharply and she flinched again at his tone, he made to move and touch her arms but he stopped remembering how different things were in England and particularly how different Amelia was. "I don't understand," he shook his head, "I was away in Manchester this last week- I, I thought my sister must have told you. But before that I- were you not ill? Did you not get my cards?"

"I-" Amelia opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know what was happening she felt faint suddenly and her throat hurt, "Cards? I don't know what you're talking about," she managed in quiet confusion, "I have been fine!" she looked up at his indignant face and said nervously; "It- it was not you at all?" she swallowed in realisation and felt her cheeks flush red. "You- you do not dislike me?" she asked quietly.

"Amelia!" he said her name almost angrily, "You- you are the one person in this village, in this country," he stressed, "who is interested in anything I have to say!" He spoke in concern, "I have missed your company a great deal," he told her gently, "I like you very much," he heard her sigh a painful breath and he saw her hands move, twitch a little in front of her. He reached out and took them, she held his hands gratefully and looked down at her gloved hands clutching at his long elegant fingers, he watched tears fall from her face but she didn't look up at him. "I thought you had been unwell," he said gently she looked unwell, wan from grief, "when you could not come to my sister's birthday I knew you must be unwell."

"Peter," she said his name softly in relief but she corrected herself, "Mr Jenkyns, I- I thought." She swallowed and did not know what to say, she felt her throat tighten and she wanted to cry, she did not want to tell him that his sister had tried to shut her out of their life and that she thought he hated her, "I was told you were very busy," she said quietly and she let go of his hands, "that t-telling me stories was too much of a d-distraction from your work." She dried her eyes on the back of her gloved hands. "I- I have been fine- I mean," she smiled a little and admitted, "I have not been happy but I have been healthy, this month."

"My sister did this?" he said in disbelief. "She told you I was busy?"

"Perhaps she is right," she tried again to smile a fraction, "that I was spending too much time with the two of you. And- and remember it has to end anyway. It- it is only that it is so hard to make friends here," she admitted, "and I- I liked the two of you the best."

"You-" he looked at her and stammered, "You came to the door, didn't you?" he said in realisation, "and she turned you away!"

"You were busy," she said softly trying to make him lower his voice.

"I was never too busy for- for friends!" he exclaimed. "She didn't give you the invite to her birthday, did she?" he said in disbelief and he looked down at the poor girl whose company he had missed over the last few weeks, she had obviously been very hurt by all of this, she looked dreadfully unwell, thin and pale and now she pretended that she hadn't just been crying in public over their friendship and she spoke calmly to his feet rather than his face.

"No," she said softly, "but I expect Miss Matty had her reasons. She was too busy," she suggested, "I know she must be spending a lot of time with Mr Buxton."

"Not at our house. Amelia, I'm so sorry," he stressed, he touched her shoulders briefly but she seemed to shudder so he let go of her, "I'm so sorry you have been treated this way, you do not deserve this. When I told you that you were welcome in our house I meant it. I would never go back on anything like that."

"I- I must have said something," Amelia said quietly, "or done something."

"No," he said quickly, "no, you did nothing wrong." Amelia shuddered again though he was not touching her, "she made me believe you were not well, that- that she had visited you and delivered my messages," he stressed angrily. "She pretended the two of you were still friends."

Amelia realised as he spoke what Miss Matty had been trying to do, she had been keeping them apart, how could she tell Peter why his sister had been doing that? She paled and realised that even though she had not even seen it herself that Miss Matty must have recognised it, that Matty knew that Amelia was in love with her brother and she did not approve.

"Come with me now," he looked down at her imploringly, "we shall ask her why she has behaved this way."

"Oh, no," she said in shock, "I do not want to know," she shook her head. "What ever it is, I, I'm sure she had a reason- even," she said quickly, "even if it was not a true reason, she must have believed it and it will be so embarrassing for her to admit in front of me. Please, I don't wish to be any more trouble I- I'm just so relieved that you- we are still friends," she finished.

"You deserve the truth," he stressed and she looked up at him.

"The truth is not always easy to hear," she said softly.

"An awful friend of hers will have put an idea in her head." He said under his breath, "I will go home and remove it. I promise she will apologise and long to be friends with you again."

"No," Amelia said quickly, "please don't bring it up, I- I would be so embarrassed."

"What do you propose I do? Go along with this?" he said incredulously, "Not bring it up just so we don't hurt my silly sister's feelings? You come and visit me only when she is not in the house?"

"I- I cannot be with you alone," she said quickly.

"What?"

"I cannot be un-chaperoned. Someone must be present," she clarified.

"That's ridiculous," Peter scoffed, "We are not-" he stopped and looked down at her, blushed a little himself but laughed again, "Those sorts of rules do not apply when- when visiting elderly gents!" he scoffed again and Amelia laughed a little. He smiled at her reaction it was the first time he'd heard her laughter in a long time, she looked up at him and shook her head still smiling slightly though her nose was red from her emotion and so was the skin around her eyes. "What can she have been told?" Peter said rather softly, he was happy that Amelia was smiling once more, "I expect Miss Pole is behind this, she is a terrible gossip, she'll have made up some terrible rumour and had Matty believe it."

Amelia swallowed and paled she thought of the day she had walked in on her mother taking tea with Miss Pole. It was surely what had started everything. The little red faced woman whom Amelia had instantly been frightened of from the moment she had met her, it was she who had done all of this, she wondered what her mother could have told the village gossip about her that would make her need to warn her friends. She looked up at Peter's kind face and she wished she could visit him without a chaperone, be only as they were, great friends, he was so intelligent and wonderful, he would not listen to small talk or rumours, he would never believe anything her mother ever told him about her.

"Please, come with me," he offered his arm to her, "We'll talk to Miss Matty together."

"No. No thank you," she quickly corrected herself, "I really don't wish to put either of you in that situation," she told him, "I- I do not wish to find out what she- why she has chosen to exclude me. I do not hate her for it, I could not even dislike her. She is such a terribly sweet person, she must have had her reasons but I- I just can't find out what they were."

"It will be something ridiculous," he assured her.

"I know it will," she looked up at him, "but it will still be embarrassing- for myself and Miss Matty." She swallowed, "If you do ask her why she did this, please do not say we have spoken, I think she would be a lot less embarrassed if she thought I had no idea of any of this." She smiled up at him grateful that she still had his friendship, his unfaltering friendship, "If you can just persuade her to see me again we can let her come to her own conclusions about me."

He shook his head and looked down at her. "You are patient," he observed with an admiring tone in his voice, "but you are paranoid too, Miss Amelia. I am sure that it is only something silly, how could she believe anything terrible about you?"

"Thank you," she said quietly, "for thinking that of me."

"I hope you accept my apologies," he said once again.

"Of course I do," Amelia bowed her head a little and he automatically bowed back, "I am so glad we are still friends."

* * *

"This letter came through the door," Mrs Walker handed her the card, "no stamp, I expect it's from one of your old women," she smiled a little and Amelia took the envelope from her mother. She opened it and looked at the pretty card, bought in Mrs Johnson's shop, she recognised it from the ever-changing window displays. It had been among a group of others balanced on a miniature chest of drawers some weeks ago, a piece of lace stitched into the floral design. "That is ugly," Mrs Walker observed as her daughter scanned the writing inside and looked up.

"It is from Miss Matty, she wants to invite me to a late tea tomorrow," she said quietly, "she says she is sorry to hear I have been unwell."

"I thought you said you were not friends with that woman any longer?" Her mother took the card from her and looked at it suspiciously.

"She- she must have heard that I was not well and felt sorry for me. That is what old women are like, mother," Amelia said quietly.

"Rude," her mother corrected and again she looked with distaste at the design on the front, "If this were polite society you should decline but I expect you wish to see her."

"I- I would like to go, mother," she said timidly and her mother looked her up and down.

"There is nothing on this card about her brother, I expect he will not be present. If I find that this is not the case I will be very disappointed, Amelia," she said quietly.

"Of-of course," Amelia said with a stutter, "If she does not write it then it- it is to be just the two of us, you see?" she pointed to the card but her mother took it to her desk and filed it into a drawer.

"You may go, Amelia," she said, "I cannot see any harm in it."

"Thank you," she said quietly, "thank you, mother, I promise I shall not stay long. Not past six," and she moved to where her mother sat and she kissed the top of her head, her mother looked up in slight suspicion but smiled.

* * *

Amelia sat in her room and prepared herself mentally for seeing her friends again after having been shut out of their lives for nearly a month. It had been only two days since she had bumped into Peter and learned the truth; that his sister had purposely been keeping her away from them. A day after his promise to not say anything to his sister the stiff card had arrived inviting her to tea, it had shocked her and worried her, he must have spoken to her, must have asked why.

And Amelia knew why, it was because Miss Matty had seen in her what had taken separation for Amelia to see herself; that she was too fond of the old man, she loved him. He was intelligent and kind and she knew she was more animated speaking to him than anyone else, it must have been obvious to his sister that she had feelings for him.

But Amelia realised Miss Matty had had a right to keep them apart because of it, it would only hurt terribly when she was no longer allowed to visit him, when his sister lived with Mr Buxton at Cranford Old Hall and he was an old bachelor living alone. This would have been the kind reason, but Amelia had horrible doubts that it was not this kind thought that drove Miss Matty's reasoning. She had a horrible feeling that Miss Matty did not trust her or worse did not trust her own brother and that was a beyond ridiculous notion for Amelia knew Peter would never ever fall in love with her even if she did love him. He would only pity her if he knew how she felt, and if he found out about her past he would think she was disgusting and not even have pity for her.

Amelia worried about how both would react at having her in their home. Would Peter make it uncomfortable for both of them by betraying her trust and trying to discuss what had happened to make Miss Matty exclude her from their lives? She dreaded to think what that conversation would uncover, his sister's real fears, Amelia's real feelings, how could she deny it if Miss Matty accused her of loving him?

Deep down she knew that none of these things would happen, that it would be like the tea she had once taken at Miss Pole's house with Miss Matty and her other elderly lady friends; it would be cold, stiff and awkward, but Miss Matty wouldn't be there to squeeze her arm and smile at her, Miss Matty would be the one who would be cold and stiff. It made her so anxious that she knew she would not be able to look at them, either of them, even if Peter sat there and tried to pretend nothing had changed, she would not be able to look at his kind face because Miss Matty would see her looking at him and she would know, she felt sure the old woman would know.

* * *

Peter sat quietly and watched the two women talking, Matty had been so quiet to begin with and so had Amelia, neither one of them had mentioned the fact that they had not sat together for a month, they had talked only the awkward small talk of strangers. He wondered why they did not mention it, why his sister did not apologise, but he chose to let them sort it out the way they chose for he had promised both of them separately that he would not talk about what had happened. And what had happened had been so ridiculously stupid.

It had taken a good half hour of his sister's weeping when he had come home and confronted her, told her that Amelia looked ashen and thin and had cried in plain view of anyone who might walk past because she felt she no longer had their friendship. He had asked her furiously why she had lied to him, why she had not given Amelia his cards or his messages to her. It was only after Matty had stopped crying and admitted to Peter that it was because of something Miss Pole had learned about the girl that he shook his head, sat down and let her speak. He should have known it would be that woman, even as a girl she had caused nothing but trouble with her high opinions and gossiping. She got carried away with gossip to the point that it was so embellished and far from the truth that it was nothing less than a lie and yet the little woman believed it herself so solidly that it was hard for anyone to argue with her.

Peter did not apologise for being angry with his sister but he stopped asking rhetorical questions and pacing the room. He did not stop being angry he just waited to hear what the rumour was so that he could try and understand just how his sister would believe it. It took another fifteen minutes of weeping before Matty told him the sordid story whose source was apparently Mrs Walker herself. That Amelia had been involved with a man and that was the reason they had had to leave their last home.

And they had talked quietly about it, that even if that were the case then it must not have been Amelia who was the villain, for they knew she was sweet and timid. That if something had happened then she would need their friendship even more so she would not feel spurned again. Later in the conversation it had been revealed that Matty's real fear was not just that they were friends with a girl with a murky past but that she would bring scandal on their home too, Miss Pole had pointed out how fond Amelia seemed of Peter.

He did not shout at her, he restrained himself because of the utter ridiculousness of the situation, he managed to talk calmly to her and point out every obvious fact. That Amelia had no father, that she had no interest in being anything other than a friend, that Matty had been with them for practically every exchange they had ever had. He spoke so calmly that he surprised himself because truly it was the angriest he'd ever felt in his life.

And he still felt angry, more so as he watched the two women together in the parlour. When he had seen Amelia the day before she had been overcome with emotions and she had been walking in the cold so he had tried to assure himself that she looked unwell because of those two factors but when she had entered their house he had felt such pain and anger at seeing his young friend's demeanour that it had taken a lot of control not to glare at his sister in shame of her behaviour.

Amelia seemed smaller than she was somehow, it was because of the way she now held herself, when they had first met her all those months ago she had walked with her face nearly always to the floor, her hands tightly clasped in front of her she often wrung anxiously as if they were cold, all those traits seemed to have disappeared as she grew comfortable with them, as had her flinching and stammering in her speech, but all those traits had returned and Peter found them painful to observe.

He felt terrible for not noticing the absence of Amelia from their lives. Of course he had noticed, but he had believed his good older sister, as he always had, that she was unwell and so could not come to the birthday party he had arranged. He had made Amelia a small card telling her that he wished she would soon be well again and that they would discuss the books she had read- why had he not delivered it himself? Why had he given it to his sister to deliver? He felt horrible looking at the delicate broken sparrow of a girl who, when she was well, shone like a beautiful swan, he could not blame Matty entirely for he had neglected her friendship too.

Peter could see the distress on his sister's face and hear the sadness in her voice as she spoke to their guest too, so he knew she was sorry for what she had done but he wished she could be honest with Amelia, not about the rumour, but at least apologise for what she had done to the girl, he knew that Amelia would forgive her, she was the sweetest most forgiving person he'd ever met and she deserved an apology.

He found he could not say much in their small conversations, he was too distracted and uncomfortable, what he would have liked to do more than anything was to sit next to Amelia and hold her hands and tell her a hundred times that he was sorry, but that would never do. It wasn't done, Amelia would not feel comfortable and worst of all his silly sister would think it was the behaviour of a man in love, and of course he wasn't in love, he just cared about her a great deal. He sat in silence and watched the women talk.

His stoic behaviour was rewarded very suddenly and it was a good thing too, for he was ready to burst from it. But it was his sister who burst.

Matty suddenly started to cry and Amelia who flinched in shock at the noise looked at the woman next to her in amazement. The last thing she had said was that the weather on the tops was so cold now that the stream was full of icicle covered plants already, and Matty who had looked rather dreadful all evening had suddenly started to cry.

"Miss- Miss Matty," Amelia said in concern, "please, do not cry," she whispered to the woman next to her and she reached out a nervous hand and touched Matty's shoulder, patted it gently, "please," she tried softly.

"Oh, Amelia," Miss Matty cried and Peter watched his sister in speechless amazement, "I have been such a terrible friend to you," she cried, "and you- you look so small and pale, it is because of me!"

"No," Amelia said softly and she raised her eyebrows, "No, it is not at all," she said kindly, "I have not been well these last two weeks," she admitted quietly, "you are a good person, Miss Matty."

"You have only been unwell because of me," she sobbed.

"That is not true, you- you may ask the Browns," she said suddenly, "they saw me these two Mondays past up on the tops with no bonnet, gloves or shawl, I- I caught such a dreadful cold from my own foolishness."

"You- you are not angry with me?" Matty asked quietly from behind her handkerchief.

"I could never be angry with you, Miss Matty," Amelia said gently, "I- I am far too fond of you. Please don't think about it anymore."

Matty looked up at Amelia's pleading face and she nodded at the girl and looked at Peter who stood and walked to his sister, he took her hands and she stood and let him embrace her. "My dear sister," he said softly as he held her gently and rubbed her arm, "little Matilda."

Amelia watched Peter hold his sister gently and she swallowed and looked away, not down at the floor but over to Peter's empty chair. She felt very sad seeing Matty repentant but she felt worse seeing her comforted. Amelia was the person who had been hurt the most by all of this and she had the comfort of their apologies and knowing they were sincere, but she had not the comfort of someone's embrace, the last person to hold her was her mother. She closed her eyes and shivered knowing that if Peter ever embraced her for any reason that she would open her mouth and tell him how she loved him.

"Come," Peter said and she looked up at them both as he let go of Miss Matty and took her instead by the hand, he outstretched his right hand to Amelia and she stood up and took it, he held her hand tightly and she breathed in sharply and looked down at their hands, his hand was on hers for barely a second before he pressed it into his sister's instead. "You two must stay firm friends," he told them and now her hand was held tightly by Miss Matty, who nodded. "I want to hear no more nonsense," Peter said to both of them but particularly he looked at his sister.


	9. Chapter 8: The End

Chapter Eight: The End

"No, I insist, Matty," Peter stood and smiled down at his elder sister, "You are too good to me, letting me talk and talk like that. Now you must get yourself to bed and I will walk Miss Amelia home."

"No- I, I will walk her," Matty tried to say as her brother shook his head.

"I am quite all right to go alone," Amelia volunteered quietly as she saw the exhausted Miss Matty start to protest.

"Don't be ridiculous," Peter said softly, "What sort of gentleman would I be then?"

"It is only six or seven doors," Amelia smiled down at the floor and held up her hands, "You should both be in bed, it is not yours but mine- my fault for staying so late. I- I just was so happy to be with both of you again." She smiled at Matty who smiled sheepishly back, the young woman walked to the older woman and took her hands gratefully. "Thank you for the invitation," she said quietly, earnestly. "Go up to bed Miss Matty, I will walk home," she smiled.

"Peter will take you," Miss Matty said quietly, she smiled and looked only at Amelia's kind young face not up at her younger brother's superior expression.

"If- if you're sure," Amelia looked deep into Miss Matty's eyes and she nodded.

Amelia walked to the Jenkyns' front gate and held it open for her escort. She spoke to Peter under her breath, "she obviously thinks you are too tired for this, why don't you stay home, tell her I insisted."

"That is not why she was not keen, Amelia." Peter said under his own breath. "She is scared of her friends, scared of their ridiculous rumours."

"Oh." Amelia said quietly and she looked down at the ground as both of them started to walk very slowly. They had not been allowed more than a minute on their own over the evening and so Peter had not had opportunity to explain to Amelia why his sister had behaved as she had. But Amelia hadn't wanted to know, she was quite happy acting as the other two had been doing, pretending nothing had changed and that they had all still been friends. After the first half hour which had been rather painful and then Miss Matty's emotional bursting the three of them had tried with great effort to become friends again, they had spoken about Mr Buxton and Erminia and Amelia had related the story she had read to her mother to them both, she had even been able to talk to Peter a little about the French book he had leant her all those weeks ago. She did not want to talk about the unpleasantness that had been dealt with, it was over now, why could they not return to the way they had been?

"I- I really don't want to know what she is scared of, Mr Jenkyns," Amelia said quickly because she did not want to know. She was happier to forget about it.

"It was more about me than it was you, Amelia," he told her quickly before she could protest.

"I find that hard to believe," Amelia said softly. "You live together. How could it have been about you? She sees you all the time."

"She- she believed some rubbish about our- our friendship."

Amelia felt her heart jump, it was true, what she had feared it would be was true. Miss Matty had been able to see what even she had not known. "She- she is with us!" Amelia said quietly. "There is barely a moment when- when she is not with us. I- I knew it would be something like this, why," she whispered angrily, "why can I not be friends with whom I choose without it- without it being sordid?" she sighed painfully and she felt her cheeks flush from the secret she had, that even though their relationship was not sordid Amelia did have other feelings for Peter that she would never tell him.

"It is not sordid, Amelia," Peter told her reassuringly.

"But people turn it that way," she said quietly.

"Amelia," he said her name softly. "Why did you know it would be something like this, that it would be for that reason? Has- has this happened to you before?"

She looked up at him in shock and she shook her head. "I- I just knew it would be," she whispered nervously, "Because ours is an unconventional friendship, is it not? And," she swallowed, "and people are scared of unconventionality."

"Yes," he agreed quietly, "they are."

"I have never had a- a friendship that meant more to me," she confessed.

"That is very sweet," he said appreciatively, "It would just be nicer if people could grasp that it is just friendship," he smiled at her. She nodded in agreement and smiled back at him. They began to walk again and Peter was aware that she was quiet, no doubt upset be the ignorance of gossipy spinsters.

"I think you have won her around, if it's any consolation." He shrugged, "I mean, tonight, she was not scared that the things she heard were true, only that we might spark more rumours by being seen just now."

"I know," she said quietly. "Your sister is sweet, she only worries for your reputation. Perhaps for both our reputations," she smiled up at him briefly, "now that I have won her over again."

He laughed a low rumble and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I think I could murder her for her silliness."

Amelia did not laugh but said seriously, "You would never do anything to hurt Miss Matty, would you?"

"I- no, no of course not," Peter said rather taken aback, "I was joking, Miss Amelia."

"I know," she said quickly, "I- but you didn't upset her over this- this business, her lying to me, I mean."

"We spoke calmly, she- we were both upset," he confessed, "you are so sensitive." He smiled at her. "She is my big sister, I would not ever harm her. Her pride, her feelings, what you will," he rambled, "She is my family."

"I- I never thought you would," she swallowed and she looked away from him to her own front gate, which they had been standing near for a couple of minutes.

"I'd best go in," she said quietly, "mother will be angry that I was not back ten minutes ago. I- I had a nice time with the two of you, make sure you tell Miss Matty I said so."

"I will," Peter said obediently.

"Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course," he smiled, "This will all blow over, Miss Amelia," he assured her quickly, "they will find someone else to gossip over sooner or later."

She nodded and smiled in thanks before curtseying a little and walking to her front door.

* * *

Amelia closed her front door behind her, she had waited a few moments, watched Peter Jenkyns walk away before she had turned the handle and entered the house. She had watched him with such terrible fondness that her chest hurt a little and she shook her head wondering just what was wrong with her that his friendship should mean so much to her.

The moment she had closed the door her mother appeared in the parlour doorway, she was still in her day dress but she had her shawl draped around her shoulders and she looked with anger and distrust at her flushed daughter. "Where have you been?" she snapped quickly, under her breath, "we agreed you'd be back by six, I was just about ready to come and get you."

"It has only been fifteen minutes," Amelia started, but her mother was eyeing her suspiciously, "I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I lost track of the time, it won't happen again."

"You're certainly right it won't happen again," her mother agreed, "I know who you've been with, what you've been doing."

"I was with the Jenkyns," Amelia raised her eyebrows, "you know them, they are nice- good people."

"Good people indeed." Her mother picked angrily at her own fingernails and Amelia walked past her taking off her bonnet and gloves, "she's a naïve old spinster, and- and him, he's a ridiculous old man."

"He is not," Amelia flushed red with anger and spoke too quickly, her mother raised an accusatory finger and pointed at her daughter's face.

"I knew it," she hissed. "You horrible little girl, even in this place, this place I found for us you- you'll take anyone you can get."

"No!" Amelia said and her eyes filled with tears, "mother, mother I've never- you, you believed me, I thought you believed me?"

"How can I believe you? I can't trust you!"

"I was with Miss Matty all- all of tonight, you can ask her!"

"Who walked you home?"

"No one! No one! I walked by myself," Amelia sobbed painfully.

"You liar!" her mother spat triumphantly.

"No, no I'm not," she said pleadingly, "please, please, Mother, they are my friends, I do not want anything, anything from anyone, just- just to be normal and quiet."

"I saw you talking to that man, I saw you through the window- in front of our house! I wondered if you would tell me, but you denied it of course." Her mother shook her head and narrowed her eyes, "everything you've ever told me is a lie, isn't it?"

"No! No!" Amelia protested, "You know it isn't!"

"You told me you had fallen out with them but look, you are at their home in the middle of the night! Was the sister even there?" she said manically and then she made a strangled sound before she spoke, "You took him away from me again!" her mother said angrily, "after ten years of waiting to see my son, you- you horrible little beast, you made me believe- tricked me into leaving him!"

"No!" Amelia choked and she tried to grab her mother's hands. "No!" she begged her mother, fell to her knees and clutched at her dress as she pulled her hands out of her grasp. "I've never lied, mother, please!"

"Your brother won't let you see your men," her mother pushed her away as Amelia on the floor put her hands up to her face in despair. "I have invited him to join us."

Amelia looked up at her in horror. "You have told him where we are?"

"With any luck he will be here within the week, he is more forgiving than I am, Amelia, he has already forgiven you for trying to tear us all apart. I am sure that he will restore order in this house."

"Mother," Amelia spoke under her breath with such a small faraway voice that she felt as though someone else was using her vocal chords for her, "When?" she gasped, "When did you write to him?"

"I knew that was the reason you would not let me out of your sight!" Her mother hissed, "All this behaviour of yours since you ran out half naked onto those moors, like something in a sensationalist novel," she shook her head, "and then being stuck to my side like a sad little limpet, I had to write to him!" she said painfully, "I- I- your behaviour spoke for itself, you are not well, Amelia!"

Amelia sobbed and put her hands up in innocence, looked up at her mother, "I- I am killed, mother, you have killed me," she cried sadly.

"Your lies!" her mother shook her head in disgust and she wiped her eyes and turned away from her daughter, "Get to bed."

* * *

"Mother," Amelia stood in the doorway and looked down at her mother who sat at her desk reading over the letters once more.

"Have you calmed down since last night?" her mother didn't look at her just down her nose at the letters she obsessed over.

"Yes," Amelia tried to say calmly, "I wondered if we might speak about it?" she tried.

"Everything has been said, Amelia," her mother said plainly. "I have realised through hearing both sides of the story, through watching your behaviour in this village that I should never have believed you." Amelia said nothing and felt the life drain from her own face. "Your brother is a good man and he wants to help you. You cannot help the way you feel, betrayed by his return, I understand, I do. But you must understand that you are not the centre of the universe, you cannot always get your way."

Amelia turned and walked back to the foot of the stairs, but her mother stood up at last and followed her into the hallway. "This is what I mean," she said angrily, "You cannot walk away when someone is talking to you!"

"And yet you walk away when someone is asking you for help," Amelia spat furiously.

Mrs Walker shook her head in disappointment, "You have problems, Robin has money for doctors. He wants to take you to see someone in London, a specialist."

"I don't care what he wants," Amelia said quietly, "I will not let him have anything."

"Don't start," her mother said angrily. "It upsets me so when you lie."

"I am not a liar!" Amelia stressed with tears welling in her eyes. "Mother, we, we used to be so close, ten years it was just the two of us and- and you trusted me didn't you?"

He mother shook her head and shrugged, "I don't know, Amelia," she said honestly.

Amelia closed her eyes and sank down onto the staircase, she covered her face with her hands and she wept, her mother sat down next to her and put her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

"We will help you, Amelia," she said softly. "You'll see."

"Mother, if you wish to help me then you only have to let me go- let me train as a governess, anything, just don't make me stay here."

"No daughter of mine shall be a governess," she said steadfastly and calm she took her hands away from her daughter's shoulders and instead patted her knees reassuringly, "you shall be a lady of leisure until your brother brings back a suitable young man for you to marry. Then you can leave."

Amelia nodded painfully and her mother smiled at her. "There's sense," she said quietly and she squeezed Amelia's knees once more, "What say we go into the kitchen and dye that white streak in your hair?" her mother suggested. "I have bought you the proper colouring."

"Dye my hair?" Amelia said in quiet amazement.

"You want to look nice for your brother, don't you?"

Amelia stood up and moved quickly away from her mother back up the stairs. "You- you can't be serious," she whispered.

"Fine, go on then, read your books," her mother shouted up the stairs after her. "You will not ruin it this time."

* * *

Mrs Walker came into Amelia's bedroom in the late evening with a letter in her hand, "tomorrow afternoon," she smiled and she sat on Amelia's bed, "he will be here tomorrow afternoon." Amelia stared at her mother and she felt a familiar yet horrible sensation in the back of her throat, she was going to be sick.

"We will dye your hair in the morning," Mrs Walker reached out and touched Amelia's hair, she pulled away twitchily and her mother frowned with disappointment. "Please, just try to think of me for once," her mother stressed. "We tried this, what you wanted, now you must try for me. He is my only son."

"He is not your only child," Amelia said quietly.

"He is my life," Mrs Walker stressed angrily. "I have been away from him for ten years, imagine, if you can, being away from someone you love for that long."

"I was away from someone I love for that long! I was away from him too!" Amelia stressed, "but he is not the boy we loved!"

Mrs Walker hit her daughter's face and Amelia gasped in shock and clutched her red hot cheek. "I have tried and tried," Mrs Walker said under her breath, "I have done everything for you and yet you do nothing but lie and- and make disgusting claims while you're out there entertaining old men and it's you," she stressed, "you who is disgusting."

"I don't know how to make you believe me," Amelia whimpered.

"Try telling me the truth."

"I always have," she stressed while tears fell down her face.

Her mother shook her head in despair, "I have given you so many chances Amelia, but your jealousy and your- your wickedness has driven us apart and I cannot cope with you."

"I'm sorry, Mother," she wept painfully.

Mrs Walker stood up and walked to the hallway, she looked at the letter in her hand and spoke to Amelia one last time before closing her door. "He is to stay for two nights then he will take you to London where he has made an appointment with a specialist, he only wants what's best for you Amelia."

Amelia stared at the closed door and listened to her mother's footsteps down the stairs. She ran her hands up into her hair and pulled it tightly in terror, her life was over. The little life she had just started to repair, the quiet life in Cranford was no longer an option to her, she could only think of one plan of action. She looked over from her bed to the window and wondered if it was high enough for her to jump from. She stood up shaking and looked out of the window down at the garden path below, if she jumped head first perhaps she would be lucky and she would crack her skull or break her neck on the stone slabs below.

She tried quietly to open the window, if her mother heard her she knew she would be restrained or sedated by the local doctor whom her mother had probably already told that Amelia was unstable. She pushed the handle and knocked the empty glass jar that sat on the windowsill with her elbow. It did not smash it just tipped and rolled a little before Amelia caught it. It had been empty on her windowsill for more than a month, she had kept a common white rose in it for a few days until it had died. She had sketched the bloom and that instead sat propped on the window ledge next to the jar. Peter had given her the flower. That was why she had kept it.

She looked painfully at the jar clutched in her white hand, what would Peter and Matty think of her when they heard she had killed herself? What would her mother tell the village-folk that Amelia's reason was? That she was mad? Would people believe that? Amelia swallowed painfully, people would believe that, maybe even Peter would believe it. She started to cry nervously and she didn't know what to do.

She could not kill herself without seeing him, without telling him what his friendship had really meant to her, that she had loved him and she had never been happier than when they were together. Could she write to him and make sure he got it?

It was absurd to Amelia herself that she had such feelings for the old man whose company she enjoyed so much. She had never had any male figures in her life so of course he had become important. And she knew that he probably thought she saw him as a father but she had known her father and he was not a good man, he had not reminded her in any way of her father. She had found a passionate and intelligent man who was very obviously no threat to her, he was not young or of the persuasion to pursue her, he enjoyed her company for the same reason she liked him. Someone to talk to about the world and about literature; a change from the small-minded village folk he had come back to after his years of travelling.

When she had thought he was ignoring her she had felt alone again. When she realised he valued her friendship as much as she valued his she had felt her heart ache with relief. And now that she was trapped in great danger with death seeming to be the only escape she knew she was dreadfully in love with him.

She pushed the window open and looked back at her made bed and the door behind her, she knew that her mother would not check on her, that she never did, but before Amelia leapt from the window she took the blue dress from her wardrobe and pushed it under the covers of her bed so it looked like she was in there.


	10. Chapter 9: Sanctuary

Chapter Nine: Sanctuary

Amelia stepped onto the branches of the tree outside her bedroom and lowered herself down as quickly and quietly as she could. She could not really tell how quiet she had been for she had slipped twice and her hands were scratched and torn from guiding herself through the frosty branches. Her heart was beating so loudly in her head that she could hear nothing but her own blood. When she had reached the ground she moved quickly to the gate and climbed over the wall not wanting the creaking metal to give her away after all her climbing efforts.

She ran quickly the seven houses to the one she'd been happy in only the night before, the upstairs windows were dark but to her immense joy and relief there were still candles lit in the downstairs rooms. She walked quickly up the path and to the door, which she decided simply to open, for if she knocked then Miss Matty who might be asleep upstairs would be woken.

Amelia closed the door quietly behind her and she peered into the parlour where the fire was burning out but Peter Jenkyns sat by his candle and read peacefully.

"P-Peter?" she spoke his name shakily and her throat hurt, barely any sound came out and she held her throat painfully as he put his book down in confusion and looked through the doorway at her in shock.

"Amelia?" he said in utter confusion, "what are you doing here?" he asked her and she put her fingers to her lips pleadingly as he moved through the doorway to see her standing with her back to his front door.

"Please," she begged quietly, one finger pressed to her lips and her other hand outstretched, "please, I- I don't want to wake your sister."

"Oh, Amelia," he tried to smile but he was shaken by her behaviour, "she is not here," he said quickly, "she- she was invited to a late supper with Mr Buxton and his ward- she has been gone an hour." He paused and watched her press both of her bare red hands to her face. "What has happened?" he asked her. "What has happened to you, Miss Amelia?"

She shook her head, "nothing," she said painfully and she cried quietly and shakily feeling the relief of being in their house wash over her.

"I- shall I fetch your mother?"

"No," Amelia looked up at him and seemed to tremble all over. "Please, no," she begged.

"A-a doctor then?" he tried, "you, you are not well."

"I- I am fine, Peter, I," she tried to say and she looked at his worried face, "I- I just feel so safe here- it, it is a relief to me, to be here."

"You- you do not feel safe in your own house?" he asked her quietly.

She shook her head painfully and the tears streamed from her eyes, "No," she managed.

"Your- your mother has done something to you?" he tried looking at her face, one side seemed more flush than the other, as though she had been slapped and she started to cry again and she shook her head. "No, no of course not," Peter spoke reassuringly though he could see she was denying what was plainly there. He moved towards her and touched her arms briefly before moving his hand to his pocket and taking out a handkerchief which he gave to her. She held it in her hands and looked up at him. He looked down at her with pity and concern and he touched her arms again. "Come and sit in the warm," he tried and she nodded and walked shakily into their parlour.

He moved her to the seat he had been sitting in, it was warm and by her side was the book of Indian etchings they had so often poured through together, he had been reading it when she broke in. Peter moved the footstool out from under the side table and in front of her, he sat down on it and looked up at her in concern.

"Will you tell me what has upset you?" he said softly and he looked at her hands in her lap, her knuckles were white as she gripped the handkerchief. When he looked up at her face her large teary eyes were bright in the glow of the dying fire as was the white streak in her hair which like the rest of her seemed unkempt and wild compared to the evening before when she had sat with him and his sister and taken tea and cake while making careless small talk.

"I- I had no one else to turn to," she admitted quietly and he smiled at her gently, "I never wanted you to know," she sighed sadly and she looked down at her hands. He watched the tears pour silently from her eyes down her face.

"Know what?" he pressed gently.

"What- what I have done," she said painfully and she breathed shakily and trembled. He did not say anything and she looked up at his kind face, "I- I know you shall hate me after I tell you, but- but you are my- my only friend," she tried to smile, "and I need to be with someone I trust."

"I shall never hate you," he said in quiet disbelief, "whatever has happened, I shall be your friend, Amelia."

"My mother," she started shakily and she bit her lip, "my mother despises me," she told him.

"Nonsense," he said automatically.

"She does, she does," Amelia sobbed, "and you will too, I know you will," she cried painfully.

He reached out his hands and touched hers in her lap, she clung tightly to them and after a moment he let go with his left hand, picked up the handkerchief from her skirt and raised it gently to her face, he dried her tears delicately while she hung onto his right hand tightly with both of hers. "Tell me," he said gently.

"The reason we came to live here," she said down to his hand, which she held in her lap, "is because of something I did- something that happened at home. Something that would have ruined our reputations had we stayed."

Peter breathed normally but his heart beat quicker as he thought of the dreadful rumour that his sister had told him, that couldn't possibly be true could it? She swallowed and heard the other voice take over as she continued to stare at his hand. "I've told you before of how my brother and father left and went to India when I was fourteen years old, well," she risked a glance at his patient face, "well," she said again as she looked back down, his hand seemed to twitch a little, squeeze reassuringly at hers, "my brother came back to us last year and- and obviously we were so happy." She looked up at him again and tried to smile. She let go of his hand and he took it away slowly and put it in his own lap.

"We- I was so looking forward to seeing my little brother, as I remembered him- he, he was only twelve when he left. He- I was looking forward to hearing about everything he- he'd seen and d-done." Amelia swallowed painfully and her lip twitched. "And- and he did tell us everything," she shook her head. "Only- only he had changed so much from how I remember- he." Amelia breathed and shook her head still in disbelief, "He was still that boy until- he waited until my mother had gone to bed and- and obviously I wanted to hear all his stories- wanted to stay up and be- be with him, my- my brother." She paused and breathed shakily through her mouth, "He- he did not want to be my- my brother," she raised her hand shakily to her head and looked down at the floor. "He wanted to, to show me things- do things that he had done in India. He," she looked up at Peter who sat in calm silence and listened to her. "He did things I did not want- I never wanted," she stressed, "such- such horrible things."

"Amelia," he said her name gently but she wretched a little and raised her hands to her face in horror that she had told him her shameful secret.

"My mother did not believe me," she hissed painfully and she looked up at him, "she did not believe me and she did not stop him from- from touching me, coming to my bed," she gasped painfully. "She still does not believe me! It- it was only when the evidence, the evidence was so obvious- the, the bruises, the- the blood," she wept, "that she took me away from him, but- but Peter," she looked into his eyes with such terror, "Peter she has written to him and he is coming here- he will arrive tomorrow, I am so scared!"

He reached for her hands again, unsure whether or not she would want him to touch her but she moved from the chair towards him and she hung onto his arms, knelt down on the floor and pressed her face against his chest as she broke into tears.

He put his arms around her and touched her back gently.

"She- she has been writing to him in secret," Amelia sobbed against the soft cotton of his clothes, "she believes him, all the lies he has told her, that I- that I am mad." She closed her eyes tightly, "Oh Peter," she sobbed his name and held onto him tightly, "I'm sorry," she whispered painfully against his waistcoat, "I'm so sorry, Peter."

"I- it doesn't matter," he told her gently, "Amelia, it's not your fault."

"I'm so sorry," she said again.

"You- you don't have to apologise, not to me, not to anyone."

"I- I didn't want you to know," she sobbed painfully.

"I don't mind, I- I am glad you told me," he assured her.

"But, Peter, I didn't want you to know," she sniffed, "that I am spoiled," she finished in a painful whisper.

"Amelia," he said her name gently and he rubbed her back, "You- it was not your fault, you are so pure, you are a pure and beautiful girl, it does not matter what has happened to you, please don't think like that."

"I didn't want you to know," she whispered again, "because-," she pressed her face tightly against him, "because I- I love you," she said painfully, "I am in love with you, Peter."

"Amelia," he said her name in a different tone and she cried painfully so he did not start to argue, he only held her tighter.

"And- and I know I cannot expect you to love me," she said quickly, "I do know that, Peter, I- I just needed to tell you," she sniffed, "that I love you."

He let go of her gently and moved his hands to hers, he stood up and helped her to her feet, she trembled terribly and looked up at his serious face, he moved his book to the footstool now and sat down with her on the sofa, he held her hands tightly and looked down at her beautiful sad face. "Amelia," he said her name gently and watched her close her eyes and tears fall from beneath them, "I'm going to protect you," he assured her, "I- I promise I won't let anything happen to you, but-" he looked seriously down at her and furrowed his brow, "I- I want you to look at me," she looked up. "I'm an old man," he pointed out gently, "You are a beautiful, wonderful girl. I'm old enough to be your father, this is why I'm refusing you, not because you are not wonderful." She nodded in acceptance. "I- I just assumed you saw me as a father," he said quietly, "It- it's all I can give."

"I- I have no father," she said quietly.

"I know," he said softly.

"My- my father was nothing like you," she whispered, "you- you are the most wonderful person I know."

"You are so young," he said with a gentle smile, "you are yet to meet so many interesting people, young men-" he started but she shuddered.

"I- I do not wish to meet any young men," she swallowed, "I do not wish to meet anyone, Peter," she looked up at him, "I- don't you see what he has done to me, what they have both done to me, my mother and my, my brother, I do not wish for an exciting life! I- I like it here, I like the quiet and the, the lovely old ladies and I like you. I- I wake up every morning wondering when I will see you! When I will sit near you and feel safe," she swallowed painfully and her eyes watered, "What you will talk to me about, what we shall discuss- like, like human beings!" she choked a little, "My stomach churns and my heart aches when I am with you, my heart hurts when I do not see you. I- I don't want to leave Cranford."

He swallowed and looked down at her in alarm almost. "I- I cannot protect you if you do not leave," he tried quietly and she too looked up in alarm. "I have contacts, I have money, I- I was going to suggest sending you away."

"On- on my own?" she asked anxiously.

"Amelia, I cannot think of an alternative!" he stressed, though he had thought of one while she spoke about her feelings, but it did not seem right at all to him. "I cannot hide you here!" he said incredulously but still quietly.

She nodded and let go of his hands, put her own hands back into her lap shakily. "I- I know, I- Peter, I, I did not come to you for help, I- I had already decided what to do but I, I needed to tell you what you have meant to me first."

"What- what are you saying?" he said angrily, "What do you propose to do, Amelia?"

"It- it doesn't matter."

"It does," he said furiously, "just because I refused you does not mean I do not care about you, I -of course I love you dearly." He told her indignantly, "You don't think I won't be crushed when you- when you do whatever stupid thing you plan to do."

She looked up at him with a tragic pleading face and she tried to smile, "Don't you see, if you love me then there is an obvious way for you to protect me!"

"I- I'm not the person you're supposed to marry," he protested looking down at her.

"You're the person I choose," she stressed, "I want to be quiet in Cranford," she whispered to him, "I don't want to be anything else, I- I don't want anything, if- if you do not desire me it does not matter," she whispered.

"But Amelia, it does matter."

"Not if I'm marrying you for your mind! And if you're marrying me for the same reason."

"And what of your desires?"

"I desire to be in your company always," she whispered. "Do, do you have desires? I mean, is there someone you love, someone you wish to marry? I, of course- Peter, I will not force you to do anything, I'm just," she swallowed, "I'm just telling you that I would love to be with you. I am not telling you all of this just so you will protect me, I- I could have taken your money and gone but I, I could not do that."

"Amelia," he said her name gently and she lowered her eyes sadly at the tone of his voice, "I know you have been violated, hurt in the most terrible way and- and you feel that anything like that is, is wrong. But when you marry, when you fall in love with someone it is, it is natural to desire them in that way and- and though you must feel like that is so horrible, it- it is different when you are in love. And if you fell in love and felt that with somebody in the future imagine how terrible it would be to be married to me."

She looked at him sadly and shook her head slightly, "then, then you feel nothing like that towards me?" she whispered.

"Of course not," he assured her and she started to cry, she raised her hands to her face and stopped herself, she pushed her fingers up through her hair.

"You- you have been in love before, Peter, haven't you?" he nodded and smiled reassuringly at her, "I- I knew there must be something wrong with me," she whispered to herself more than him.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said softly.

"And yet I have thrown myself at you, I have told you I love you, felt- felt such things for you that I did not think I would ever feel after, after what has been done to me- Peter," she looked up at him painfully, "Last month when I did not see you I, I thought I was going to die, I thought my heart had broken, I do have those feelings! I- I tremble when you touch my hand, have you never noticed?" She asked in disbelief.

Peter opened his mouth and stared blankly for a split second before he put his hand up to his open mouth and shook his head unsure what was happening to him. "I- I assumed you didn't like it. And, obviously after, after what you've told me, I- I thought you must hate to be touched! Not that- that you- you feel like this," he stammered.

She sat next to him in silence and breathed painfully as she watched him run his own hand over his forehead and through his thick silvery hair.

"Peter," she said his name quietly. "You- do you remember how we have been these past few months, before this last month," she corrected, "How you make me laugh and- and sometimes I make you laugh. How I love to listen to you and read the same things you do so we can talk about them. How I like to draw you when you are busy reading and," she smiled nervously, "how you have painted me," she breathed and swallowed trying to stay calm, "how we talk about your lovely sister, Nothing- nothing of that memory has to change," she whispered, "does it?"

He looked at her sadly, his eyebrows furrowed in painful thought, he shook his head and too tried to smile, he stood up and she looked up at him with worry etched on her tired face but he knelt down in front of her and he spoke while he reached for her hands. "Nothing will change," he promised her, "when we are married. We will be the same as we were, except I will look after you," he gripped at her hands tightly.

She cried and nodded, "thank you," she whispered painfully. "thank you," she fell to the floor again in front of him and she put her arms up around his neck and hugged him tightly pressing her face into his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he told her quietly, "probably- probably not the way a husband should love his wife, but- but I do love you."

"I- I told you," she whispered, "nothing has to change, you, you do not need to desire me," she spoke into his shoulder, still hanging on tightly, "you are so wonderful."

"Amelia," he held her gently as she clung to him, "if you meet someone else I will let you be with him, I, I will not make you my prisoner."

"I will not meet anyone else," she whispered into his clothes, "I want always to be with you." She closed her eyes tightly in relief and felt the warmth of his body up against hers, for the first time in what seemed like years she felt truly safe. "May, may I kiss you?" she asked very quietly.

He let go of her gently and she looked up at his handsome face. She had often thought that he must have been very handsome in his youth, for he was a handsome old man, with long eyelashes around his warm brown eyes and a strong jaw leading up to thick silvery hair that must have once been as black as the dark eyebrows that seemed to look so seriously down at her now. He had never looked so serious before, on his face was usually a warm and friendly smile, tonight he had worn a fixed frown, he did not frown now though, nor did he smile. She looked up at the warm eyes and wondered if she had been granted permission for he did not nod, but he did not push her away, he still had his large elegant hands on her back and she still had her long white fingers pressed into his shoulders.

She knelt up and pressed her lips gently against his mouth, she kissed him shortly then she smiled at him nervously and kissed his cheek in thanks for the first kiss, "thank you," she said gently.

"Amelia," he said her name softly, nervously and his eyebrows raised a little in worry, "you are so beautiful," he told her gently, "I- I never thought, I would never have believed you would fall in love with me."

"I- I love everything about you, Peter," she said quietly back and suddenly felt very exhausted. He smiled sadly and she put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I am so tired," she whispered, "I don't know if I can climb the tree back up to my bedroom."

He reached for her bare hands on his clothes and held them, ran his thumbs over them softly feeling the scratches once more. "So that is what has done this," he said quietly. "Come," he said gently and he moved, stood up and pulled her hands, "you will sleep in the spare room, I will fetch you a nightdress of my sister's and you shall stay here."

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

* * *

Peter sat on his bed and stared at his tired reflection in the long mirror. He looked particularly grim tonight he thought. For the past ten years he had started to look in the mirror and not recognise the old man who looked back at him. Since his dark hair had faded to grey and then to the silver it was at the moment he had become less recognisable to himself. His face seemed to have stayed the same for a very long time thanks to his eyebrows, always very dark even though his hair was not. But lately he had noticed specks of white in them and he knew that when they turned then his reflection would be a total stranger.

He wondered how many of the hairs in his eyebrows had turned white in the last hour. Since his young friend had told him first of the terrible disgusting thing that had been done to her, second that she was in love with him and third that she was not just in love with him because he was an old man unlikely to harm her in the way she had been hurt before, but that she felt she desired him. Then of course he had agreed to marry her, which was something he had never planned to do after his first odd experiences with love decades ago.

He wondered about his eyebrows as he got into his bed wearily and he thought about the large streak of white hairs in Amelia's dark chestnut locks, he guessed now why they had appeared. What had caused them to appear so prematurely in the worryingly young girl. He had left her asleep in the spare room and then he had left his sister a note on her bed which simply read "Amelia in spare room. Do not wake her. Will explain in morning." He did not know what he intended to tell his sister. Certainly not what Amelia was afraid of. Not why she was not in her own bed in her own house. He supposed he would have to tell Matty that he was engaged to the girl. How would she take that? She would most probably be horrified, especially after what her friends had spread rumours about and all the time she had just spent trying to keep them apart purely for her theory that Peter had dismissed as totally ridiculous, her theory that Amelia desired him... He could not tell her the real reason why he was engaged to her, to protect her, he would have to tell her what from, and that was a horrible story that he decided to take to the grave. No, he would have to tell Matty that he was in love with Amelia.

And he knew he wasn't.

He knew he wasn't supposed to be.

But of course he had loved her very dearly for many months, maybe since she had first spoken to him. She was an intellectual and his best friend, but she was so young, much much younger than what was suitable for a man of his age to consider marrying. What would people think? Neither of them had any sort of great fortune- he had given most of his money to his sister- so without money in the picture people would just be confused.

And she was so beautiful, she was stunning. He felt terribly ashamed of himself for agreeing to marry her, he would look disgusting on her arm. People would think he was a disgusting old man even if he had no interest in her looks or her body. He had never thought about her like that, and when she had told him what had happened to her of course he did not want to think of it ever. But she had told him she desired him, that her heart ached when she was near him, could that possibly be true? Wasn't he too old for that? Wasn't there a law against it? He would not let himself feel like that even if she said she did... He had felt something when she had kissed him, but mostly he had felt an overwhelming sadness and longing to do something for his friend, so when he had resolved it by promising to marry her he had felt relief for both of them in that kiss.


	11. Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter Ten: The Truth

Matilda Jenkyns had not slept more than a couple of hours. She had returned to her home to find her brother gone to bed, not like him, he usually stayed up very late absorbed in a book or his work. But the fire had burned out and the candles were not lit, he must have been tired, it was nine in the evening when Matty returned from Mr Buxton's house, he had tried to persuade her to stay in one of the rooms of the house but she couldn't do that, the idea of it made her blush terribly even if someday soon it was to become her home she didn't feel she could stay there yet.

After climbing the stairs carefully by candlelight Matty had gone to her room tiredly but still with an excited glow about her, she found she couldn't stop smiling, at least she couldn't until she set the candle down by her bedside and saw the note that her brother had left her on the pillow: 'Amelia in spare room. Do not wake her. Will explain in the morning.'

Matty breathed in in absolute horror and made for her door quickly, but she stopped and forced herself to think rationally. The things Miss Pole had said about Amelia had not been disproved but the way the girl had become in the time they had not seen her surely proved that there was nothing but grief in the girl's life, not lust, not trickery, she was a poor sad girl and something bad must have happened for her to now be asleep in the spare room. Matty clutched her heart and cupped a hand over her mouth, perhaps her mother had died and that was why she was there. Because she did not want to be alone in the house where it happened and where the mother's body was probably laid out.

She shook her head and hoped to God that it was not that but what could it be if it was not that? Why was she not with her mother? Did her mother know that she was with them? Had the mother left on some business and Amelia was too frightened to be in the house alone? That might be a better explanation. Matty thought about all the times she had allowed friends of hers to stay in the house, there should be no reason why this should feel any different.

But it did feel different. It felt wrong. She had not been there to let Amelia stay, and though that should not have mattered somehow it did, it was because of Miss Pole's rumours and accusations. Matty had seen the glint in her brother's eye when he had pretended to be so calm denying that he felt anything for Amelia, arguing sensibly that the girl wanted a father figure and yet Matty knew that it was not real calm. She had seen him sulk and become angry and furious when he was a little boy and he had not changed.

He had been furious at her suggestion, and there was no fury without reason. If he had not felt anything for Amelia before she mentioned it then the idea had been planted when she confessed and now he must have thought on it.

Did he think it might be true? Did he, despite his protestations, wonder if Amelia really had been involved with a man before and now she was interested in him? Was he really foolish enough to try and encourage her?

Matty lay in bed and wanted to run into the spare room or into her brother's room and hear it from either one of them, demand explanations. But what if they were not in separate rooms at all? What if it was happening under her own roof, under her own nose!? She did not want to walk in on that, but she did not want it to be happening either, she strained her ears trying to listen to anything in the silent house, she heard nothing and she really had no desire to hear anything. She fell asleep briefly from worry and exhaustion but it must not have been for long because when she awoke- fully awake- it was a long time before it was morning.

And now Miss Matty sat fully dressed and washed for the day in the kitchen in the crisp winter morning, still half dark and waited for her brother or for her young neighbour to come down the stairs and explain themselves.

* * *

Peter stood at the closed door of the spare room and he swallowed. He had got up and washed and dressed rather early, he had fallen into a deep and disturbing sleep the moment his head hit the pillow the night before, but he had woken to feelings of intense worry and decided to get up and face the world as soon as possible. Before knocking on the door to the spare room he glanced at his sister's door and saw that it was slightly ajar and that the curtains in there were open, she was awake and yet she was not coming out of her room to confront him. Maybe she had not come home at all the night before, he hoped that was the case, it would be one less thing to worry about.

"Amelia?" he said her name softly after he had tapped on the door, she answered from behind the door and he opened it and looked down at her. She too was dressed and the bed behind her was made very nicely, she was standing close to him by the door but she did not look up at him, she looked terribly sad and it made his throat hurt to see her that way. Her hair was lose down her back, it was long and wavy, a mahogany brown but with that white streak all the way down the right side, she pushed it behind her ear but it flopped back down as she did not look up just down at the wooden boards.

"Did you sleep all right?" he asked gently and she nodded.

"Are you ready to go downstairs?" he wondered if she was regretting what they had decided to do. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," he whispered painfully and she looked up at him, "ever again." He stressed with his eyes closed. He had thought about it all morning, the horrible things that she had confided in him. His poor sweet friend, so interested in learning and reading, so kind and gentle and she had been hurt in the most horrible despicable way.

He opened his eyes to see her holding his hand, he squeezed gently and reassuringly and she took his hand and raised it to her mouth, she kissed it. "You- you are wonderful," she told him quietly.

"Amelia," he said her name painfully, "please don't say that. I'm not."

"You- you are everything to me," she still held his hand up near her face and he sighed worriedly and took his fingers out of hers, he did not take his hand away though, he touched her face very gently, briefly skimmed her soft warm cheek with the knuckles on his hand, he felt her breathing change at this touch and he took his hand away.

"My- my sister will be downstairs soon," he swallowed and spoke to her, "we must tell her what we plan. She- she has no power to stop us from doing this, Amelia," he stressed, "even if she does not want it to happen."

"I do not wish to lose her friendship again," the girl managed to say quietly.

"She is a good soul, she will understand, if not now then in time."

"You- you're not going t-to tell her?" Amelia looked up at him with terrible wide eyes.

"No," Peter said too quickly, "no not that," he assured her, "I- I will tell her that you stayed here because you were locked out of your house."

"That won't work, Peter," Amelia stressed, "locked out of my house and now we are engaged?" she said in disbelief, "we- we must tell her that there is something that I am frightened of- but, but not what it is, and that is why I am here."

"And that we are engaged because, because," he said quietly, but he could not finish, he did not know what to say, it was still a rash decision to him, but he had promised.

"She- she knows why," Amelia said quietly, "because we have a great deal in common and," she swallowed, "because we love each other."

He looked down at her and she looked up at his large brown eyes so full of sadness, he nodded down at her and she nodded back. "I- I wish I could be young for you," Peter heard himself say and he breathed painfully and really did wish it.

"I- I don't want you young," she whispered, "I love you as you are."

He touched her face again, this time brushed the long lock of white hair behind her ear and he leant and kissed the top of her head softly while he still held the cold silky hair against her long white neck. She moved into him and put her hands gently on his waistcoat, she did not try to put her arms around him she just leant against him quietly and felt the warmth from his heart against her palms.

"We shall go downstairs now," Peter told her and she nodded against him and reluctantly moved away from him and held her hands in front of her as she walked to the landing and down the stairs in front of him.

"I shall make tea," he told her and he turned and looked at the parlour, "why don't you sit down?" he offered, Amelia shook her head.

"I- I'd rather not," she admitted.

"You- come and sit in the kitchen then," he offered, "it will be warmer in there anyway." Amelia nodded and walked through the door he held open for her. "Matilda!" Peter was surprised to see his sister sitting in the pale blue morning light in their cold kitchen, Amelia in front of him had stopped still and he touched her arms gently and reassuringly but he saw his sister's eyes widen in horror at this small action and she stood up and walked to the girl. She took Amelia's hands and pulled the girl behind her, she did not look at her only up at her tall little brother.

"What do you think you are doing, Peter?" she stressed angrily.

"Matilda," Peter said in a quieter tone but still angry, "It- you must let us explain."

"That is what I am waiting for, Peter, an explanation," Matty said dangerously and she turned and looked up at the girl, "what are you doing here, Amelia?" she asked her with great disappointment in her voice, "it- it is nothing terrible is it? Your mother is well?"

Amelia swallowed and nodded, "I- she is well."

"Then what are you doing here? Why are you not in your own bed?" Matty shook the girl's hands and looked up at her questioningly.

"My- my mother is expecting a guest," Amelia said quietly, "this guest is a man who- who in the past has wronged me. I was frightened and I- I did not know where else to go."

Matty looked at her sympathetically "Why does you mother let this man in your house?" she asked gently and Amelia looked up from their clasped hands and up to Peter for help.

"This man brings news of her son," Peter said quickly, "she- Mrs Walker is very devoted to her son."

Matty looked up at her brother and then back at Amelia, the girl was pale and she looked down at the floor. "I- I understand," Matty said quietly and she let go of Amelia's hands and she touched her arms instead briefly, comfortingly. "I- I am sorry your mother allows someone you do not trust into your home, Amelia," she said quietly, "but- but I also understand how she wants to hear about your brother," she smiled a little, "at least there is that consolation," she tried, "that you will hear some news- maybe of when he will return to you," she tilted her head sympathetically and Amelia nodded.

Peter stared at her painfully and thought of all the times he had tried to comfort the sad girl when he thought she missed her brother, all the things he and his sister had said meaning to be kind but not realising the horrible things that it must have caused her to think about. "Matty," Peter moved between them, in front of his sister and by Amelia's side. "We- we have something else we must tell you."

Matty looked in alarm at one to the other, Amelia still did not look up but Matty saw her swallow. "What- what do you mean 'we'? Peter," she warned her brother, "do not say anything foolish."

"It is not foolish," he told her with forced calm.

"No- no, I shall not hear it," Matty said quickly.

"We are engaged," Peter said quickly and Matty put her hands up to her face and shook her head.

"No, no, no," she stressed quietly, "No, you are not," she said and she looked up at Peter's face, "you- you ridiculous man," she said to him in a fluster, "why- why do you think this is a good idea? You- you are taking advantage of her. She- she is so young, Peter and you are so old!" Matty stressed and she wrung her hands a little, "Oh my goodness, I- I never thought you would be so unwise as to act on this- this flattery." She looked at Amelia, "and you!" she said in disbelief, "You really wish to throw your life away? Peter!" she looked painfully up at her brother.

"You- you were right, we do have feelings for each other," he said quietly, "It was only when Amelia came here to ask for our help and- and you weren't here that we were able to confess our feelings."

"I- I love him," Amelia said quietly, "you must know that Miss Matty, I- I mean you must have known it before. Even before I knew."

Matty nodded painfully, "yes, yes, I knew," she said quietly.

"And you knew how I felt, didn't you, Matilda?"

She nodded again, "I- I just can't believe you think this is a good idea, Peter," she looked up at him imploringly, "after- after everything."

"I- I am sorry Miss Matty, that you do not think I am good enough for your brother, but I assure you I have never felt like this before, I have never been in love before."

"Then who is this man who has wronged you?" Matty asked angrily, "did he not love you? Did you not love him?"

"I- he- he did not, and no," Amelia said firmly, "I never loved him, our engagement was arranged by my family and broken by him when he- when it was discovered he had a lover, s-several," Amelia stammered, "I was always scared of his character, never once r-remotely in love."

Peter was amazed by Amelia's ability to make up such a story and though he stood still and let no emotion show in his face he realised he recognised the story from one of the French adventures he had leant to her. "He is a villain," Peter said quietly, Amelia's breathing was painful as she tried to recover from her tall tale, she looked down at the floor and Peter touched her shoulder gently she shook from nerves and he reached for her hands with his left hand.

Matty watched the little girl hold onto her brother's hands in gratitude, she watched her brother looking down protectively and she realised she could do nothing to stop them from marrying. It certainly was not the behaviour that the two of them would have shown each other if they had been secret lovers for many months. This had happened overnight and both parties seemed to love each other in the way Matty had always hoped, as father and daughter, so if they wanted to get married and continue this strange relationship she supposed she could not stop them.

"I think you should wait," Matty said quietly, "Amelia, perhaps this is just because of this man coming here that you feel you have to get married to Peter for protection. But we can protect you here, you can ask your mother if you can stay while she receives this man and we shall not let anyone see you. And when all is returned to normal then you might see how silly this is."

"Miss Matty," Amelia looked up at her friend, "I have been in love with your brother since I first met him, that will not change, I'm sorry," she added, "but you know that is true."

"We are to be married this afternoon," Peter told his sister and Amelia's fingers clutched at his hand.

"That- that is ridiculous!" Matty said angrily.

"It is Amelia's wish," he told her quietly, "so that she is protected by me."

"You have not even asked your mother," Matty said to the girl in outrage.

"I- I am four and twenty," Amelia said quietly, "I shall decide when I am to be married and to whom."

Peter swallowed, four and twenty, less than half his age. He looked down at his sister, flustered, red faced and angry. Amelia's cold white fingers clutched tightly at his hand, she had breathed in in shock and held onto him tightly when he announced that they were to marry in the afternoon, it was not something they had discussed at all. He had hoped that his sister would have been in bed longer so that they could talk about what was to be done without her, but she was already there and he knew that if he did not marry Amelia immediately then the brother, who would be there in the evening, would have access to her and he would not let that happen.

He would protect her like he promised, he would marry her that afternoon and then take her away, take her somewhere safe for a while before returning to face the real world. They would have time to collect themselves, to write to Mrs Walker and explain, but importantly Amelia would have time away from her worries, she would have time to relax and be safe, Peter wanted that for her.

"We shall need your help, Matty," Peter said softly and he let go of Amelia and moved his hands to his sister's, she would not let him take them at first and she shook her head in silent shock, she looked sorrowfully down at his hands.

"Why are you doing this, Peter?" she asked very quietly and a tear fell from her eye.

"Matty, I- I am only doing what feels right in my heart," he said truthfully, "You know how I feel."

Matty nodded painfully, "I knew, I knew it," she whispered, "I tired so hard, so hard to keep you apart."

"Yes," Peter agreed gently, "but for a different fear, not this, surely not this?"

Matty shook her head admittedly, "But I still say it is a mistake," she whispered, "a very selfish mistake on your part, Peter," she looked up at him.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, he did not want to say it in front of Amelia but he thought about all the times his sister had talked of how unattractive she found the girl, how she was never likely to be married. He swallowed and looked at his sister who still shook her head, "Matilda, I need you to tell Mr Buxton about this, I must speak to him, ask a favour of him. But you must keep this a secret."

"We- we are not to even tell Mrs Walker?" Matty asked in positive disbelief and she looked at Amelia who stood behind her brother with her eyes to the floor. "Your- your mother must be told, Amelia, I don't care if you think you are old enough, your mother must know of this life-changing decision!"

"Matilda, you cannot stop us from eloping," Peter said quickly, "We- we could have left last night but I wanted you to know, you- you who are so honourable, you hold great respect with the people of Cranford, you can tell them the truth! Tell them that I did not steal her away and- and she did not steal me!" he said angrily, "You who know us both, have seen us together, you know our friendship naturally progressed to this!"

"But why?" Matty said back angrily, "why must you elope? Why can you not wait or- or ask your mother's permission," she looked at the still silent Amelia, "Why is this so hasty and secret?"

"My mother would say no," Amelia said quickly.

"I know she would, dear," Matty sighed sympathetically and she nodded, "don't you value her opinion at all? She who has done everything for you, brought you into this world and raised you, loved you?"

"She will have her son back soon," Amelia said quietly, "it is he she loves, she will not need me."

"You- you think your brother will return? Amelia, then, don't you see this is even more reason to wait!" Matty said in quiet excitement as she realised there was still hope. "Wait, please, at least wait to be with your family."

"I- I'm sorry, Miss Matty, I can't do that."

"You stubborn little thing!" Matty said with tears in her eyes. "I only want what's best for you!"

"I- I do know that, Miss Matty," Amelia said painfully, "I know you do. I appreciate all this kindness and caution you give to me, to, to try and make me rethink this, but I cannot. I do not want to be in a world where I am not with your brother. He- he has given my life new meaning. My family would not allow it." Amelia swallowed and did not look at Peter just at his sister. "Do you not remember the way I was when I first arrived here? I was scared, scared of everyone, even you who has always been so kind to me I was timid around. This was for a reason, Miss Matty, I- I had bad experiences. Peter has brought me out of myself, made me interested in so many things when I felt that the world held nothing for me. Without him I go back to being scared, being interested in nothing."

"I know," Matty admitted again. "I- I know you are in love, both of you," she said painfully. "I, I just didn't think you would ever- ever do anything about it."

"We are asking you to help us," Amelia said softly, "because we love you too."

* * *

Amelia sat by the window and looked nervously out of it. From the spare room in the Jenkyns' house she could see the main street that ran through Cranford. She felt anxious being so close to the window but she knew that no one could see her from the angle she watched from. Her mother had been to the house, she had knocked on the door and Amelia had stood petrified against the wall waiting for her to leave.

Peter and Miss Matty had left her in the house alone, they had locked the door to make it look as though no one was at home, that the two of them had gone out for the morning. They had gone out, gone to call unexpectedly on Mr Buxton, Peter had not explained why but Amelia suspected it had to do with transportation.

When her mother knocked on the door Amelia had forgotten briefly how to breathe and she listened so intently to the sounds coming up the stairs and into her open door that she felt sure she heard her mother force the door a little but to no avail. She knew. She knew where she would have gone, where she was.

Twenty minutes after her mother had come to the door Miss Pole practically ran through the Jenkyns' gate and to their door, which she tapped at furiously and said shrilly, "It is Miss Pole!" as though they would normally have answered at such information.

Amelia sat in stomach churning fear that her mother was out in Cranford talking to its inhabitants about what she believed her daughter had done in the past. She wondered what her mother believed she was doing at the Jenkyns' house, just hiding or seducing the old man who lived there? It made her feel sick to think that her mother had such opinions about her, but at the same time she felt sick because it was true, it was what she had done. She had come to Peter Jenkyns and proposed to him, taken advantage of his affectionate feelings and forced him into something he clearly was not comfortable with.

Peter was out there now, in the world, arranging everything, taking care of everything, pretending he loved her. She had effectively passed her worry onto someone else and now she worried about him and what she had done to him. At a time in their relationship where she knew she should have been happy that he seemed to care about her so much she only worried what danger she might have put him in and what danger she still was in.

Amelia felt awful that Miss Matty had been betrayed by everything that had happened and that now she selflessly helped her brother despite her obvious disapproval, Amelia had not wanted ever to hurt Miss Matty, not wanted to ruin the friendship she had come to value so much. But she had not planned ever proposing to Peter, ever telling him any of the things she had told him the night before, it had all just come spilling out. And helpless to resist his offer to protect her she had of course accepted with such wonderful relief that she had not thought of the consequences- not even for themselves let alone those around them.

Matty would probably never forgive her for stealing Peter away, Amelia knew the old woman was only doing all she could for them because she adored her little brother, she would have done anything for him, even support a bad decision. She had not questioned why Amelia was to stay locked in their house, she had gone along with it because Peter asked her to.

And so Amelia stayed alone locked in their house with a shawl of Miss Matty's wrapped around her in the cold upstairs room, Peter had left a book for her, pressed it into her hands before he left her, told her to be patient and be calm and that he would return as soon as he could. She had not asked him anything, she had just looked up at him and nodded, she had said "thank you," once more but she had not touched his hands or pressed her head against his shoulder, she had just looked at him as he looked back down at her.

* * *

At ten past one Amelia heard the lock in the door, she had not been looking out of the window for a half hour, there were too many people about and she was so tired. She instead sat tightly and looked at the wall opposite her, she could not read the book, she was too nervous, there had been four occasions when the Jenkyns' door had been knocked upon, two of them were her mother, first in the morning and then three hours or so later at mid day. The stress and the horrible sick feeling of terror was making Amelia so ill that she could not breathe once more when she heard the front door open.

"Yes, I know," Miss Matty was saying stressfully. A second female voice could be heard, shrill and unfaltering.

"I just want you to know that the girl has disappeared," Miss Pole said.

"Yes, you told us," Peter said, "good day, Miss Pole."

"It seems likely that she would come here," Miss Pole insisted, "you are close friends are you not?"

"We have been out all morning, if she came here then we were not here to receive her," Peter said.

"She might have been waiting for you to return, you should check in your garden."

"My goodness," Peter said angrily, "Why do you not go and check if she is hiding in our bushes?" he said to the nosy woman, "Good day, Miss Pole," he said again and this time he closed the door. Amelia heard him turn the key.

"Peter!" Matty said in disbelief.

"Listen, don't let her in for God sake. Talk to her at the door if you must but don't let anyone in, Matilda."

"Peter, this is such a terrible mistake," Matty whispered but Amelia could still hear her.

"You must do this, I- I don't ask much of you, Matilda, but do this, please. I must go and speak to Amelia."

Amelia felt her heart in her mouth as she heard him speak so seriously about her and it beat fast in her chest as she heard him climb the stairs quickly and she saw him walking towards her. He closed the door in the spare room and he reached and touched her arms briefly before letting go, he nodded down at her, "It is arranged. We shall leave in a half hour."

"Peter," she sighed quietly in relief and she reached for his hands, took them and kissed them, "thank you, God, thank you," she whispered painfully. "She, she was here, came to the house and knocked on the door. I- I am so worried, Peter, you- you are an angel." Tears escaped her and she let go of his hands and wiped her eyes shakily. "I- I am forever in your debt, for- for your kindness."

"Amelia," he stressed and he moved a little closer to her but she shivered and clutched at the shawl around her shoulders, "you are not in my debt," he stressed gently, "I do this because- because I want to, not because you asked me to, God," he sighed painfully, "I just want you to be safe."

"Peter," Amelia said his name shakily and looked up at him, she put her arms up around his neck and the shawl fell from her shoulders and onto the floor, he touched her back gently and held her as she shivered in his arms. "Thank you," she pressed her face into his clothes, "thank you."

"My darling girl," he whispered softly, "I am taking you away from here." She sobbed painfully and nodded. "Now, listen," he said softly, "you must stop crying and you must pretend to Matty that you are excited to elope."

She let go of him a little and looked up at his face so close to hers, "I- Peter, I am excited to elope with you."

He nodded and swallowed, "all right then," he said quietly. "But you mustn't let her see you upset. She- she might start to think I am forcing you into this!" he smiled a little but stopped and looked away and let go of her, "dry your eyes," he said gently and he gave her his handkerchief once more, "not long before the carriage arrives and we can leave."

Amelia dried her eyes and stayed in the room upstairs as Peter had instructed, after a few moments on her own Matty came to join her and carried with her two large boxes.

"Erminia thought you might need these," Matty said quietly, she did not look at Amelia's face but she put the boxes down on the bed.

"What are they?" Amelia said quietly.

Matty removed the large flat lid on one box and then the other, "it- it is a new gown, not quite white, but cream is still attractive." She looked up at Amelia and saw the girl's face look in shock at the clothes.

"Erminia- Miss Whyte was told of this?" she asked nervously, "and- and she gave you this for me?"

Matty looked at the girl who was obviously very touched but still more nervous than anything else. "We told Mr Buxton," she said gently, "that you and Peter wished to elope before this- this man from your past arrives and attempts to get to you. Erminia was not present but it seems she was listening at the door." Amelia paled a little but Matty put out her hand and touched Amelia's sleeve reassuringly, "She said you needed a new dress to be married in, something for a bride." The old woman smiled kindly, "she is a good girl, a- a terrible fondness for romance," Matty smiled a little.

"It- it is such a beautiful thing," Amelia said quietly, "You must tell Erminia that I am so grateful, I- I appreciate it. I appreciate her kindness so much," Amelia touched her hands to her eyes and found she was crying.

"She is a sweet girl." Miss Matty said quietly. "When Mr Buxton and I are married we- we plan to travel- so that," she laughed a little, "so that it is not just Erminia who may see the world."

Amelia looked sadly and affectionately at Matty, she reached for her hands and the old woman let her take them, "Miss Matty, I- I am so happy for you," she whispered, "I am sorry if I have ruined it, your engagement."

"You have not ruined anything child," Matty said quietly. "I know that you are good for him." She confessed, "Since you arrived you have brought out the best in him," Matty laughed a little and shook her head, "when you were not here- when, when I foolishly tried to keep you from him, all he spoke about was you… Wait here," she told her suddenly and Amelia stood in the room as Matty left and walked to her own room, moments later she returned, she held in her hands a couple of small envelopes. "He gave me these to give to you, last month when- when I told him you were ill."

Amelia looked down at the envelopes at her name, prefixed with 'Miss', written on them. She turned them over and looked up at Matty, "You have not opened them?" she said in surprise.

"I- I did not want to."

"In case he wrote something you did not wish to know?"

"In case he wrote nothing at all, and then I would know I was being irrational!" Matty admitted. "Read them in a moment," she asked quietly, "let's put that dress on you."

Behind the closed door Miss Matty helped Amelia off with her dark green dress and on with the expensive cream silk frock. It was a little tight under her arms but it still looked beautiful. She sat in front of the small mirror while Miss Matty helped her to quickly pin up her hair and put her old dress in one of the boxes. Matty also put in the dressing gown and nightdress that Amelia had worn the night before and closed the box tightly with the long pink ribbon Erminia had tied around it.

"It is a shame you cannot even pack," Matty said quietly, "He will of course buy you more clothes."

"I do not- I am not going to spend his money," Amelia said quietly.

Matty blushed, "I know, dear," she admitted.

They both heard the sound of horses outside the house and they stood and looked. Mr Buxton stepped out of his carriage and straightened his collar. "He is here to pretend he is calling on me," Matty informed Amelia quickly. "Peter," Matty called out his name and walked to he landing, "he is here," she said shortly and Peter appeared from his room with two large bags, his coat on.

"Good, good," he said quickly. "Where is-" but he didn't finish, he looked up from his sister who was already walking quickly down the stairs, to see Amelia standing there holding the large brown paper box in her arms. He shook his head in amazement to see her wearing such a pale colour, she had three dresses, one dark green, one navy and the other a maroon colour, the dress Erminia Whyte had given her as a wedding present was delicate and light, it made her look almost well, not anxious and gaunt but soft and gentle. "Come," he said softly to her and he waited for her to come to him, she looked up at him with worry still etched on her soft and beautiful young face. "It is time to go."

Amelia followed him down the stairs and walked to the parlour with him where Mr Buxton, tall and impressive, stood calmly, he smiled gently at her and she curtseyed a little at seeing him and felt her face flush from embarrassment as she realised how ridiculous it must have looked with no reason behind their eloping.

"Hello, Miss Amelia," Mr Buxton said in his gentle soothing voice.

"Hello," she said quietly, "thank you, Mr Buxton, for all your help."

"Don't think of it," he said quietly and he looked instead to Miss Matty, "a favour for a friend," he said with a small smile. "Now," he said importantly and Amelia felt herself jump a little at the change in his tone but she looked up at Peter who stood next to her. "Peter, I will take those things. And Miss Amelia's box," he said, "so all you have to worry about is getting into the carriage. Perhaps you should say goodbye to Miss Matty now."

Mr Buxton took the bags and the box from them and Amelia nodded in thanks once more and smiled a little at the kind man who seemed to remind her of Peter a little not just because they were of a similar age, but because of the warmth they seemed to exude.

Peter embraced his sister in the hallway and kissed her face, "Thank you, little Matty," he said gently to her, "you are a wonderful person. I will write almost immediately, you shall not be forgotten."

"Be careful, Peter," Matty stressed and she cried a little, "I can't believe you're doing this!"

"Do not think about it," Peter said quietly, "Mr Buxton will look after you." Matty nodded and turned and looked at Amelia who stood in the parlour still and held her hands awkwardly in front of her.

"Goodbye, Amelia," Matty said quietly. She nodded and let the old woman embrace her, Amelia too put her arms around Matty and she hugged her tightly.

"I- I promise I will not hurt him," Amelia whispered to her friend and she looked down at Matty sincerely before leaning and kissing her cheek. "Everything will be better when we return," Amelia tried but she felt as though she was lying, she had no way of knowing, only what Peter insisted.

"Right," Mr Buxton stood in the doorway, "Peter, you first, off you go," he said and Peter turned and looked at Matty and Amelia, he smiled at his sister and then down at his fiancée, "I will see you in a moment," he told her. Amelia felt her heart race as she wondered why they could not leap into the carriage together, but Mr Buxton seemed to know exactly what he was doing, he spoke to Matty.

"There is no one out there, no one I know, none of your friends or Miss Amelia's mother, just passers-by, once your brother is in the carriage I will escort her quickly and close the door." He looked down at Amelia and spoke carefully and quickly, "once you are in, I will close the door and you will be moving, it is easy."

"Thank you, Mr Buxton," Amelia said again and she looked up at his pleasant face and he smiled down at her with rather sad eyes.

"It is how I eloped with my wife- my first wife," he added and he smiled a little at Matty before reaching for Amelia's hands, "shall we?" he asked her and she nodded and took his hands.


	12. Chapter 11: Escape

Chapter Eleven: Escape

Amelia held onto Mr Buxton's arm tightly as he walked her calmly down the Jenkyns' garden path and to their open gate. The carriage was so close that Amelia let herself smile at it, only when she looked up to see the open door she saw something else and she stopped still for a split second making Mr Buxton stumble a little.

"Are you all right, Miss Amelia?" he asked her quietly and Amelia let go of him and ran forwards, tried to run to the carriage's open door, to Peter who sat waiting for her but she wasn't quick enough, her legs weren't long enough, not as long as the legs of the young man who grabbed her arm.

She cried out in shock and Mr Buxton came to her aid, "Let go of her," he said sharply to the stranger and the boy did and raised his hands, he smiled.

"Amelia, where do you think you're going?" said the boy and Mr Buxton looked up at him in surprise.

"Do you know this man?" he asked the girl who stood breathing painfully and staring at the floor.

"He- he is my brother." Amelia managed to say and she looked up to the carriage where Peter now stood in front of the open door looking out at them. He looked in fury at the boy and walked quickly to them.

"You get away from her," Peter told him quickly, under his breath and he pulled Amelia quickly behind him to shield her as he had promised he would. Mr Buxton stood confused having first thought this boy the young man who had wronged her in the past but now found it was her brother who he had been told was in India.

"No- No, Peter, this is her brother," he corrected him realising that his old friend was making the same mistake. "She- she is just overwhelmed," he guessed, "has not seen him for ten years."

Matty Jenkyns gasped a little and moved from the door where she had been standing in worry, she moved to Robin Walker and looked up at him, touched his hands, "Yes, yes," she smiled at him, "I recognise you from your portrait, oh, oh Amelia, is this not happy news?" she looked down at Amelia who stood ashen and stared at the ground close behind Peter.

Robin Walker was a tall thin young man with sandy coloured hair and freckles on his pale skin, he had a lot more freckles than his sister probably from the exposure to the sun in India. His thick sandy eyebrows were raised slightly above his pale grey eyes.

"Were you going somewhere, Amelia?" Robin asked again ignoring the collective of old people who surrounded him.

Amelia shook her head a little and Matty laughed a little awkwardly. "She is so overcome," she said in excuse of Amelia's muteness, "Amelia, answer your brother, look, he- he has come back, it is real."

"Be quiet, Matilda," Peter said in what he hoped was a calm voice, but it did not come across that way. He snapped at her.

"Peter," Mr Buxton spoke this time and he looked rather angrily at his friend.

"Mother told me you might be here," the boy went on, "that your friends live here, she told me her suspicions and I wonder if they are true." He looked at the carriage and the men in front of him, his eyes settled on Peter for a moment and then he looked at Amelia's dress. "Off-white," he observed, "is that some kind of statement?"

"You-" Peter felt his nostrils flare in disgust and he punched the boy hard in the face.

"Peter!" Matty said in horror but Peter did not look at the boy who he'd knocked to the ground and was attended to by Mr Buxton, he turned and held Amelia's shoulders she looked up at him in shock and she could not say anything.

"We're getting out of here," he told her and she looked blankly at him but managed to nod. He pulled her through the gate and quickly helped her into the carriage, before he closed the door behind him he spoke quickly to the driver, "as fast as you can," he told him and he slammed to door shut.

Amelia sat transfixed in horror as the carriage rattled away with a lurch. Peter watched in the small window behind him his sister standing in a similar state to Amelia's shock and Mr Buxton and Robin Walker talking to one another and pointing. Peter leant forwards and talked to the driver through the slot in front of him, "You will take us to Manchester," he said shortly, "not Liverpool, is that understood?" He asked clearly and the driver said back that he understood.

The driver would take them a completely different route, it would take less time as well for they would not be taking the boat from Birkenhead, they would be in Manchester by nightfall. He had agreed with Mr Buxton that his driver Stephens would take them to Liverpool where Peter knew people, where they would be looked after. But Mr Buxton would tell the brother where they were going and Peter had small doubt that the boy would pursue them. Peter knew Manchester a little, it had only been a fortnight since he had last been there to see a man about importing books for him, he could hide Amelia there he was confident of that.

But Manchester was a dirty horrible town, so big but not clean enough to be a city, he did not plan on taking her into the industrial squalor, but it was still not a nice place for him to take her. Liverpool was a huge growing sprawling city, it had its horrors too but it held a lot more culture than Manchester did, she might have been interested in seeing everything that was happening there or at least interested in seeing the sea, There was only smog and illness in Manchester.

Peter continued to watch through the window as Cranford disappeared behind them, if the boy was to travel on horseback he would catch up with them easily. And then what? How would he defend Amelia's honour then? He could not shoot Robin Walker! He would be arrested. He'd already been seen accosting the man and kidnapping his sister. No, this was not good.

He looked down at Amelia for the first time since he'd kidnapped her. She sat in silence, she hadn't tried to catch his eye or talk to him at all, she had just sat like a dead thing next to him. "Amelia," he said her name gently with concern and he worried that he had caused her to have some kind of breakdown, she looked slowly up at him but said nothing. "Darling, are you all right?" he whispered painfully and he touched her arms, rubbed them softly before touching her hands which were white in her lap.

She looked down at his hands clasping hers and then up at his face again, she nodded. "I- I have made your life a horror story," she whispered and some of the syllables stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes and tears fell from them. "Peter, this is not your life, my God, what have I done to you?"

He shook his head, "Darling girl," he whispered gently, "Amelia, no, no!" he stressed, "No, I could not bear an eventuality where I had decided not to help you. He- you would, you would be in such danger if I had not helped."

"Peter, I would be dead," she wept. "I was- was going to kill myself."

"No, no!" He said again and he still clutched her hands.

"Yes, I- last night, I was going to throw myself out of my window but- but I couldn't. I told you, I needed to tell you what you mean to me."

"Amelia," he said her name in shock, "I- I love you," he said in earnest, "I- I would have died from grief."

"You- you do love me?" she asked in quiet confusion and she swallowed, "no- it, we said it all to your sister so- so she would understand why we are doing this, but it is not really why. Peter, do not become confused," she whispered. "You- you are doing this because you are a kind man, because-" He interrupted her.

"No," he closed his eyes. "No, it is because I love you." He shook his head and then looked at her, "I- I tried so hard not to, because- because you're so young, Amelia. But you are so intelligent and talented and so kind," he stressed, "my, my days were empty before I had your friendship."

"You- you love me?" she said again so quietly and he nodded. "Peter, I," though her eyes were red and teary she smiled properly for the first time in days, her teeth shone from between her lips and she looked up at him, "thank you," she moved her hands out of his and up onto his chest, he put his arms instinctively around her and she rested her face against his shoulder. "You are so wonderful," she told him quietly and he kissed her forehead gently.

* * *

Amelia had fallen asleep from exhaustion in his arms but Peter kept on guard, glancing through the window and on edge every time a man on a horse passed them. It was two hours before Stephens, their driver, pulled up to a coaching inn to let his horses breathe.

He did not know what Amelia thought would happen later in the day, there was no way he could find anyone in Manchester to marry them in the evening, that was why Liverpool had been his first plan, ships' captains everywhere he would simply find one to marry them. It was still a seedy plan, he didn't pretend there was anything romantic in it, romance hadn't been high up on his list, he'd just wanted speed, a way for them to be bound to each other so, as to put it bluntly, she would be his property and no one else would be allowed near her.

He would have to discuss with her what they would do, he could only think of one option, find somewhere they could stay for the night, she could stay and rest there while he ventured into Manchester to find a minister to marry them the next morning. Perhaps it would have been easier asking Reverend Hutton that morning to marry them in Cranford. No, it would not, everyone knew everyone in Cranford and now everyone must know that he had eloped with Miss Amelia Walker and he had punched her estranged brother in the face.

The club he had stayed in a fortnight ago was a gentleman's club, they would not allow women there, though, a gentleman's club was probably a good place to enquire about rooms that would not look with suspicion on an old man and young girl looking for accommodation… Places that would not ask to see a marriage certificate.

He knew that Amelia would not be comfortable on her own, even if he insisted she would not want to stay in a separate room from him, and if he was honest he did not want to leave her alone, not in the middle of all this, he had left her alone earlier in the day for just two minutes and seen her grabbed by her abusive brother, he would not let her out of his sight.

She woke as the carriage stopped and the man saw to his horses. "Do you need something to drink?" Peter asked her and she shook her head and sat up straight, blushing, waking to find herself pressed against him.

"Was I asleep for long?" she asked him and he shook his head.

"Just a couple of hours."

"What is your plan when we get to Manchester?"

He shook his head, "I- we cannot be married until the morning," he admitted, "if we had gone up to Liverpool we could have found someone to marry us at any time, but, but it is difficult elsewhere."

"Mr Buxton will have told him we are going to Liverpool."

He nodded, "With any luck Matty will not have mentioned my recent trip to Manchester, it- it was the only place I could think of that was as close as Liverpool, the only place I know," he admitted frustratedly and he pushed his hand through his hair, "I have been away from England for so long that I- I do not know it."

"It- it is all right, Peter," she said softly and she touched his arms a little, "It is a good plan. We shall find somewhere to stay- somewhere where they don't ask questions and then we shall be married tomorrow morning."

"And then we shall go somewhere else, somewhere nice, the Peak District is said to be beautiful," he said quietly, "but cold- this time of year everywhere is cold."

"We shall manage," she tried to smile at him. "Would- would you like to get out and stretch your legs?" she asked, "You should talk to the man, ask him if he needs anything."

Peter nodded and left her in the carriage, closed the door to keep the winter air from getting in and walked to the horses and the young man who tended them. The man was wrapped up warm but he had pulled his scarf down while he drank something strong from the inn and fed and petted his horses affectionately. "I'm sorry," Peter said quietly to him and the man pulled his scarf down a little more to expose an ear, he smiled at Peter in apology and he spoke again. "I'm sorry, that you had to change your course," he told him.

"Not a problem, sir," the boy said with a nod, "Mr Buxton told me to do what you say, so I do what you say." He paused and set down his empty mug before folding his arms, "Bit of a punch up before we left, very nicely done though, sir, very nice," he said and Peter looked around a little before allowing himself a small smile. "I will take you to Manchester the quickest way I know," Stephens promised and he nodded his head again and then took the empty bags from his horses' noses.

"Portland Street, do you know it?" Peter asked him.

"I do, sir," Stephens nodded.

"I- I should like to stop there first."

"Yes, of course, sir."

Peter felt uncomfortable talking to Stephens, he knew he shouldn't have thought much of it, but he was not used to giving orders, he was used to other people having drivers and butlers and maids- even Matilda had had a girl to look after her in the house up until recently. Mr Buxton was used to talking to everyone as though they were beneath him whether they were just a little beneath him like Peter himself was or much further down the chain, as Stephens was. Peter liked always to be far removed from any sort of system and talk the same to everyone, it stopped him from becoming embarrassed and flustered. If it had only been him in the horse-drawn carriage he knew he would have taken Stephens in to the inn for a drink and then the two of them would have drunkenly made their way to Manchester the best they could. But with Amelia depending on him to look after her he knew he could not behave the way he normally did, he would have to behave properly and take charge of the situation. He had never felt more wide-awake but more tired in his life.

He got back into the carriage with his young fiancée and he looked down at his hands in thought, he would stop at the club he had stayed in and they would arrange somewhere for them to stay, he would not be the jolly soul he had been the fortnight previously, he would be a serious gentleman and they would jump through hoops for him. He could do that, he told himself, he could be serious and take control. He kept his eyes down on his hands as Amelia's small white hand touched his tense knuckles gently. Her fingers were long and tapered, like a pianist's fingers, they were white and delicate and her nails were long and clean, she touched his hands gently and he took her small hand in both of his and rubbed it in thanks, his hands looked so old next to hers, he sighed a little as he looked down at them still.

"I- I never asked you what you thought of Notre Dame," he said quietly and he looked up at her.

"It," she swallowed and took her hand out of his, "it was haunting."

He nodded, "yes," he agreed, "I hoped, hoped it would not be terrible for you, because I- I didn't think there was anyone in your life who you cared for. Or- or anyone who had hurt you," he swallowed painfully.

She shrugged though it was hardly noticeable, "I did not think of it like that, I- to tell you the truth I enjoyed his descriptions of Paris," she smiled softly and he looked at her and smiled too.

"So did I," he nodded and she looked up at his small half smile, "I found them spell binding."

She nodded, "I tried not to think of you as I read it- what character you might think I was like, I knew you would guess wrong to who I felt like."

"Not the girl?" he asked

She shook her head, "no, sometimes, but no, I was him, the creature."

"Don't say that, Amelia," he whispered.

"No- I, I don't mean that I think I am ugly," she smiled and her teeth shone for a fraction of a second before she closed her mouth again, "just how alone he was." She shrugged again, "and then sometimes I understood the priest, they were all alone, weren't they?"

"You are not alone," he assured her.

"What about you?" she asked him, "or did you think they were all terribly unbelievable?" she laughed quietly and blushed looking down at the carriage floor as they continued their small talk while travelling bumpily into Lancashire.

"Frankly I thought they were all horribly unrealistic!" Peter scoffed and she smiled as he laughed, "but of course I understood them all too well," he admitted, "Notre Dame was the character I liked. But now," he looked at his hands again, "I don't know which of those awful characters I am most like."

"You are none of them," she assured him, "you are the hero."

"You sweet thing," he shook his head and smiled. "That is not what it looks like to my sister, to Mr Buxton."

Amelia swallowed, "Miss Matty is clever, I- I wondered if maybe she has put two and two together... I- I ran when I saw him, I cried out when he touched me." She breathed painfully, "I could not look- could not look up from the floor when he spoke," she said breathlessly, "and you- you hit him." She coughed to try and clear her throat but she wretched dryly and put her hand up to him and shook her head so he would not try to touch or comfort her. "I- I should think it was most obvious, was it not?" she said incredulously.

Peter shook his head in concern, "They- they won't have seen that, Amelia, all they would have seen was me punching him. People- people do not like to think of- of the sorts of things that have happened to you, it would not cross anyone's mind that you have been- been wronged by your own brother," she flinched and let out a choked sound when he said it, "I'm sorry," he said softly, "People prefer not to see what is evil whether it is obvious or not."

"I know," she nodded, "I just- I can't bear the idea of Miss Matty being nice to him, him being near her." She looked up quickly and shook her head, "He- he would do nothing to hurt your sister, I know that, Peter, he- he only hurt me because, because who could I tell? Who would believe me? Please do not worry for her safety, he," she swallowed and tears fell from her eyes again, "he is all smiles and charm," she said painfully, "he is my mother's golden boy," she spat and she put her hands up to her face and cried.

Peter touched her back and she leant into him once more so he could put his arms around her. "I know you may feel like this is your life, Amelia, but it is not," he promised her as he rubbed her back gently, "your life is reading and smiling and talking to me, your life will be painting in the sunshine and walking in the country, having tea with my sister and letting me look after you."

She shivered against him, shivered in his arms and she clutched at his waistcoat and nodded. "I want that," she whispered, "that is all I want." She looked up at him but she stayed pressed close, "but- but I will not let you look after me," she whispered, "I am to look after you, Peter," she breathed harshly and he could feel her breath on his face, "This- this is just today, you do not have to do anything else, I promise, I am not going to make life more difficult for you."

"Do not worry about that," Peter told her gently, "I don't want you to worry."

* * *

Matty Jenkyns sat in her parlour and worried. She had been sitting there for an hour or so trying to assimilate what had happened earlier that day.

Robin Walker had returned from India to find his mother and sister and yet there was something not quite right. He had not been speechless or overcome at seeing his older sister again after ten years away from her, he had tried to embrace her but stopped and changed key very quickly, he had spoken quite calmly to her after being stopped by Mr Buxton and he hadn't tried to hug her again, even after the revelation of his identity.

The boy was tall and though he had nothing wrong with his looks he was not handsome, he was not broad enough to be handsome, he was wiry looking and there was something almost unnatural about his movement, it was too smooth somehow. His dark blond hair and pale eyes were pleasing, he was not balding, his hair was thick like his mother's, but still there was something about the way he moved and the way he looked that was unnerving to Matilda. He seemed to look down at her, through her as though he was trying to read a book she held behind her back.

Matty sat and wondered just what had made her brother strike Mr Walker, it could not have been simply that the boy stood between him and his child-bride. Peter was not like that, Peter had never hit anyone in his life, not that Matty knew about, he resolved everything by talking, he was a talkative gentleman, he had said only three words to Robin Walker as he had stood between the brother and sister preventing reunion.

Mr Buxton had asked Matilda after helping Robin Walker to his feet and apologising to the boy, asked her where they might go and Matilda had shook her head saying that Peter only knew Liverpool. Something stopped her from telling her imposing fiancé that her brother had recently visited Manchester and so he knew that city too, it was a feeling, a bad feeling she had while looking at the boy so cool despite having been punched in the face, he seemed detached, he was not reacting properly to seeing his sister being kidnapped.

Mr Buxton had left her in her own house and gone to the Walkers' to explain and apologise to Mrs Walker and her son for letting Amelia go and for aiding their elopement. Matty sat quietly and waited for him to return, though she worried on behalf of the young girl's family Matty couldn't help wishing desperately that her brother get the girl as far away as he could and to get it over with, marry her and then write to tell her it was done. As long as they were out there together unmarried they were a scandal and she did not want any of her friends' rumours to become even more true.

"Miss Matty," Mr Buxton said her name tiredly and apologetically as he entered her house, he ran his hand wearily over his thick eyebrows as she closed the door.

"Well, what do they plan to do? Have you offered them any help?"

"They do not want it," he said tiredly and she showed him into the parlour and he sat down, "They do not want my help, they hold me responsible for what has happened, and I do not blame them, Miss Matty."

"Was Mrs Walker upset?"

"Of course," he said automatically, "though she does not show it, she must have been upset. She pretended she would be fine without her daughter now she has her son again, but it is the shock speaking of course," he sighed. "I still cannot believe your brother hit that boy," he said in disbelief.

"Mr Buxton," Miss Matty said nervously, "I- I think that Peter must have had his reasons, he, he is not like that."

"Matty, when fuelled by, by love or desire, or whatever it is, men do stupid things." Mr Buxton tried to explain, "I did not think your brother capable, did not think he was of the persuasion to act on emotions alone without thought but- but I cannot explain it any other way."

"It was strange though," Matty insisted, "Amelia was, was not in a happy shock- I have known it, the speechlessness of seeing one's brother returned to you, she- she looked ashen, terrible!"

"She was regretting the decision she'd come to, surely? The rash decision of eloping with your brother, a man old enough to be her father," he stressed.

Miss Matty was silent for a moment and her brow furrowed in thought, "I- I fear it was not that at all," she admitted, "instead that she was frightened by her brother."

"That- that is impossible," Mr Buxton said quietly, "they have not seen each other since they were children, what fear of a child is so terrible that in adulthood it still frightens?"

"I do not know," Matty swallowed. "Perhaps it is not the brother at all who frightens her, but the memory of a father, Robin Walker perhaps resembles a father who was cruel to his daughter." Matty swallowed, "and this is why she seeks a new father in my brother who is always so kind to her."

Mr Buxton did not answer he just looked at Matilda Jenkyns so small and worried on her sofa, but who was she worried for? Her brother? Her young friend who was confused and naïve? Or herself and the shame all this scandal would bring to her?


	13. Chapter 12: North and South

Chapter Twelve: North and South

"Stephens," Peter addressed the boy as he closed the door and moved around to the iron railings, "Look after her, I'll try and be quick."

The young lad tipped his hat and nodded, he watched the old man walk into the gentleman's club and then he looked back down at his horses, they had done well to travel the forty mile journey in such good time. They had only stopped four times but after the initial hour they had not had to go fast, the gentleman had not forced him to go faster at any point, just after he had hit the young man in Cranford had he wanted speed. It had been a good punch, Stephens had watched it, the boy had crumpled onto the floor.

They had been travelling all day, it was nearly nine at night, he hoped the gentleman didn't have anything else he wanted to do. He had been told by his employer to take the pair to Liverpool and not ask questions, the less he knew the better. After watching the old man punch the boy earlier Stephens could only assume that he was looking after the girl, maybe his daughter or niece and helping her escape an unwanted admirer...

"How are your horses?"

Stephens looked down to the little slot that had opened and saw the girl's pretty face in the darkness, "They are still fighting fit, Miss," Stephens assured her.

"Are you from Lancashire?" Amelia asked with interest.

"Yorkshire, Miss," Stephens corrected her with a laugh and Amelia laughed too, he saw her raise her hand to her face in embarrassment. "No, but I know the area," he admitted, "Know it well, Mr Buxton used to come here a lot on business, back when he lived over in Yorkshire."

"Oh of course, that is where he has found you."

"Been with him ten years now," Stephens nodded.

"How old are you?" the girl said in surprise at this news.

"Twenty six, Miss," the boy answered.

"I am twenty four," she told him. "How old are the horses?"

Stephens laughed and turned around and looked at her, she seemed to blush but he could not be sure in the gaslight, "girls love horses," he smiled, "Sissy here is 6 years old, and Betsy only four," he grinned, "that's why we got you here in such good time, young horses, Miss."

"How long does a horse live?"

"With good care I reckon some'll live to be twenty five."

"So not as old as you then," she smiled and he laughed again.

"Not as old as me, Miss, but surely as old as you. You don't know much about horses, for a girl," he observed, "Miss Whyte looks after these two much more than I ever could, they two are her life!"

"I- I have never really been interested in animals," she admitted.

"Let me guess, you're interested in books?" he tried and Amelia nodded.

"Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"Your old man's got a whole bag full of the things in the back," he grinned.

"You don't read then?"

"I can read 'Harry', that's my name, Miss."

"Nice to meet you Harry," Amelia said to him and she turned and saw the glow from the club door as Peter came back out she spoke to the boy once more before shutting the little hatch, "you have been an excellent driver."

Stephens looked to Peter who was accompanied by a man evidentially employed in the club, the stranger gave him instructions on where to go and Peter made sure he understood, Stephens nodded and assured his boss that he knew where he was going and Peter got back into the carriage.

He had found someone to not only find them a place to stay but met a serious businessman whose brother was a local minister who could marry them in the morning. Gentlemen's clubs were not to be sneered at, he felt extremely grateful that he'd been persuaded in his youth to join, these were obviously the perks he had been promised all those years ago, help when he needed it.

The hotel he'd been told to go to was an expensive place not a terrifying dive. It was not near the large factories they passed as they drove through Manchester, it was south of the city, near the new railway station. It was the sort of place Peter would have expected to ask for marriage certificates, but apparently all he need do was provide the concierge with the name of the club and there would be no questions asked. Peter didn't like being seedy. He thought of all the other members of the private club who must have used the hotel for sordid affairs, he didn't want people to think he was like that, or that Amelia was like one of those poor young girls. But he kept his straight face and was serious and in charge, it would not be long before he could sleep and relax his tense muscles, he was so desperately tired from all this chivalry and false seediness.

"Amelia," he spoke quietly to her as Stephens stopped his horses one last time outside the hotel, "I am to tell them that we are married," she nodded, "that way we will not be separated, but I do not want you to be scared by this."

"I- I am not scared, it is what I want, Peter," she said quietly and he nodded.

"Good," he raised his eyebrows and his forehead creased with worry, "I just- I worry that, that you might be scared."

"I am not unintelligent," she assured him, "I know what we are doing."

"Yes, yes of course," he agreed and nodded. "I shall go in and ask for a room, you wait here." She nodded and watched him get out and first talk to Stephens and give him something before going up the steps to the nicely lit building.

* * *

Amelia did not talk to the twenty six year old boy who sat out in the cold night air wrapped up in layers while she sat in the carriage wrapped in a blanket watching her own frosty breath leave her body. It was only five minutes or so before Peter came out with another young man who went straight to the back of the carriage and extracted the bags, one full of books and the other presumably with Peter's personal things. Peter took his coat off and put it around Amelia's shoulders as he helped her from the carriage, she left the blanket inside and she looked up at the boy who had brought them there, she smiled at him and he nodded to her. Peter took her arm and led her up the stone steps into the warm hotel.

They walked only a flight of stairs before coming to their room, the door was open and the man from outside stood by it after having brought their things up to the room. Peter pressed some coins into his hands and closed the door on him quickly.

"They are bringing up food and things to drink," he told her from the door, "I told them to bring it quickly because we are tired."

They had stopped several times on their journey and they had eaten a little while travelling but neither had been up to it and both had been running on adrenaline for the majority of the day.

Amelia found she looked at the twin beds with relief, she was tired. The room was warm and full of oddly fake grandeur, Manchester was full of wealth but only in very select places, this hotel was trying to be one of those places, it pretended it was and it did not really work but none the less it was comfortable and they were both grateful for it.

"Thank you, Peter," she said quietly and she looked up from the beds and saw him standing still by the door. "I am so tired, you must be too." He nodded and she took his coat from her shoulders and hung it on the back of the chair in front of the dressing table. She looked at her reflection and at the large streak of white, she unpinned her hair and then looked back up at him. "Will- will you help me with the dress?" she asked him quietly. "I am not used to anything like this, your sister had to fasten me into it," she admitted with a small smile which quickly disappeared as she looked up at his worried face. "Peter," she said his name seriously and she swallowed, "I- I will get changed behind the screen," she told him, "I only need help with the first catch."

He nodded and moved to her. He felt his hands shake a little as he moved them to the ribbons and catches that held her dress together. He felt sick to his stomach imagining wanting her in a sexual way, he didn't want that, he didn't want to desire her as she had told him the night before that she desired him. Not after what she had been through, he would never do anything to remind her of the horrible things that had been done to her.

He unfastened the first few catches and untied the warm silk ribbon, she held her long mahogany coloured hair away from her neck so he could see. Peter looked down at her white skin and felt a strange tingling in his chest as he found he wanted to lean forwards and kiss the pale porcelain, not in a lascivious way, but in a gentle way, a reassuring kiss, that he was going to look after her and make sure no one ever touched her again. He didn't. "Is that enough?" he asked her and she reached for the remaining catches and found she could do them so she nodded and turned and looked at him.

"Yes, thank you," she told him and he stood still while she moved to the bed and picked up the large paper box that Miss Matty had put her night things into. She took it to the screen in the corner of the room and changed behind it.

Peter sat at the dressing table and leant his head against his hand, pushed his fingers through his hair and worried about what he was doing. In his youth he had been involved with a woman, a woman he could not marry and yet nothing had been as dangerous and low as this. He had never seduced anyone in his life, acting like he was capable of that to the people in the club and the hotel had turned him into a wreck.

There was a knock at the door and Peter looked up to the screen that Amelia still stood behind, "stay there, I shall answer," he told her quietly and he stood up and went to the door. The same man who had carried their bags stood with a tray and behind him another boy with a second tray. Peter let them in and they silently and without comment set up the food and drinks on the table in the corner of the room. Peter took the large glass of whisky he had asked for and drank quickly as the men left. He closed the door and locked it still holding the near empty glass, he finished his drink and breathed out in release. "They are gone now," he said to the room though he still faced the door.

Amelia came out from behind the screen and looked with great concern at her friend who stood at the door tiredly, he was almost slumped against it, he had done so much for her in just one day, he must have been exhausted. She looked down at the trays of cold meats and bread as she moved to him, there was a bottle of wine too, Peter already held an empty glass in his hand. She reached out and touched his shoulder, "Peter," she said his name softly. "Why don't you go to bed," he looked down at her by his side and watched her take the glass from his hand, "You have worked so hard today," she told him gently, "go to sleep now."

Peter looked down at her and nodded in thanks for her permission, he didn't know why he felt like he needed it, he somehow thought that he'd have to be awake all night, to stand guard. He had forgotten how capable a young woman she was, she was not always scared and crying, before the last twenty four hours he had only seen her cry once, she had always been very mature and sensible, he was glad that she could be mature and sensible he felt utterly useless trying to be that way. He started to move away from her and the door but there was another knock which startled them both, Peter stood up straight and pushed Amelia gently behind the door while he opened it.

"Sorry to disturb you again, sir," a voice said and Amelia watched Peter nod seriously and close the door again after saying thank you. The boy had given him a sealed letter and Peter opened it quickly and scanned its contents, he breathed out in relief once more and he even smiled.

"Thank God," Peter said quietly and he kissed the letter, he looked down at Amelia and handed it to her. "Tomorrow at ten, we shall be married," he told her and Amelia too read the letter which was from a local minister confirming that he could marry them at St Ann's church in the city's wealthy centre.

"You- you worked all this out?" Amelia said in surprise, "you are a genius, Peter," she smiled at him and she put her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Peter held her warm body up against him and rubbed her back firmly, she shivered against him and pressed her nose against his cheek, she only had on the nightdress and the thin green cotton gown that Matty had given her, she felt small in his arms. "How did you do this?" she asked him as he let go of her and she reluctantly let go of him.

"A man, in the club that I went to, his brother is the Reverend," he said quietly.

"It, it is all taken care of then, Peter," she said gently and she held his hands, "you must go to bed now, we both must."

He nodded and looked at her pale face in the candle light, "try and eat something, Amelia," he asked her quietly, "you are so thin."

"I know," she swallowed nervously, "it was last month when, when I was away from you, I did not want to eat much."

He tilted his head and looked at her painfully, he touched her hand in concern, "I'm so sorry," he said gently, "I- I should have known," he stressed.

"Oh, Peter, it does not matter," she whispered and she smiled a nervous smile, "go and get yourself ready for bed," she said gently and she squeezed his hand, "I will eat something," she let go of him and walked to the table where she picked up a slice of bread and buttered it. She looked up at him and tried to smile in reassurance but he was not looking at her, he picked up his bag and put it down on the bed nearest the door.

Peter took out the nightshirt and robe he had packed for himself and he took out the tiny silk bag that he had also packed. He put it in his waistcoat pocket so he would remember it in the morning and then he crossed to the screen like Amelia had done and got undressed.

Amelia sat at the dressing table and forced herself to eat the bread and butter, she had a glass of wine first and that went down very easily despite not usually being of the persuasion to take a drink. She did not turn and look at him when he remerged from behind the screen in his nightshirt and thick navy blue dressing gown. She watched him in the mirror in front of her while she nibbled at the bread, he rearranged his clothes, she had hung hers over the screen and he placed his neatly folded things at the foot of the bed before he took his robe off and moved under the sheets, he did not lie down but instead sat up and looked at her.

"Would you like nothing?" she asked him quietly, "the- the wine goes down rather too easily," she smiled a little and breathed a tiny nervous laugh through her nose. She turned and looked at him in his bed. "You are such a handsome man, Peter," she said quietly and he laughed a little and shook his head.

"Mad girl," he said affectionately and she stood up and walked between the beds and sat down on his, looking at him, she bit her lip a little and smiled. "Get into bed, Amelia," he told her, "you are not used to drink."

She smiled and laughed a little, she looked down at the sheets and nodded, "Yes, yes of course, that is what it is," she looked up at him and her smile was wide and pretty, "I would never normally be brave enough to say anything like that."

"You would not be so deluded," he raised an eyebrow and smiled at her, "addled by wine!"

"Don't be silly," she smiled at him and touched his arm, "You, you are wonderful," she pointed out sincerely and she leant up to him and kissed his cheek again. She touched his shoulders and she could feel the shape of him through the fine shirt, she shivered and pressed her nose against him once more. Peter touched her back gently with one of his hands but kept his left down on the bed. "I shall go to bed now," she said quietly against him and he nodded.

He watched her move first to the foot of his bed where she picked up his clothes and hung them on the chair in front of the dresser with his jacket, she blew out the candles and then got into her bed. Peter lay down and looked up at the ceiling, shadows danced on it and he heard Amelia in her bed by the remaining candle, rustling paper. He turned to see her sitting in the bed with her back to him slightly opening letters and reading them. He swallowed anxiously and wondered who they were from, in his fatigued state he suddenly feared that they were from her brother and that everything he'd been through was a sham, she turned and looked at him affectionately, she smiled. "Peter," she said quietly, "thank you for your cards," she held up the two small cards he had made for her while she had been unwell last month. She had finally received them.

"What do they say?" he asked her quietly and he found he couldn't remember.

"The first says you are sorry that you missed me when I returned your books and that you hope I enjoyed them and that we'll talk about them soon. You have drawn Esmerelda on the front and she is reading while her goat is eating a book," she giggled a little and looked at him, he smiled remembering it and closed his eyes listening to her happy voice. "The second card says that you are sorry to hear I am unwell and there is a little joke about you having to talk to all of Miss Matty's friends at her birthday party without me and how terrible that will be." Amelia smiled at the card and she said softly, "and you have drawn a picture of me in my bed with a slice of birthday cake. But you have made me far too beautiful," she said softly and she looked at him, he was asleep. "I love you," she said quietly to him and he did not answer, she looked back at her cards fondly and then blew out the candle.

* * *

Amelia dried her hair with the towels in the small room attached to the main room of the hotel suite her fiancé now dressed in, she had been able to wash herself and use all of the soaps and perfumes laid out in the joining room. She was very glad of them but she stayed away from most of the bottles because on her nervous, practically empty, stomach their floral smell was quite overpowering, it made her choke. She brushed her damp hair through with the white ivory comb in front of the mirror and she looked at herself on her wedding day, she was twenty four and she had white hair, it matched her dress, well at least, almost, it was the pale cream silk dress that Erminia Whyte had given to her only the day before. Amelia did not think she would wear it again after this day as it was quite painful around her chest and arms, Erminia was a different shape to Amelia, she was tall too, but thin like a string bean, Amelia had a shape to her that the dress did not allow, even though she had recently lost some weight. Peter had helped her with the final fastenings that morning and he had told her not to wear it as it seemed so tight but she had insisted she must. She had been drying her hair now for nearly thirty minutes, though it was still damp it was the driest it was going to get and at least it was clean and smelled nice. It would dry wavy over the course of the day once she pinned it up.

She moved from the small room into the main one where Peter sat at the dressing table brushing his hands carefully through his own clean hair. The plates of food that had been sat there all night were practically empty this morning, Peter had eaten rather a lot when he woke up and this pleased Amelia very much, she had worried terribly when she woke up very early that he was too worried, too anxious to eat, but instead he had just been too tired. She had lain in bed looking at the back of Peter's head while he slept and she wondered if when they married she would be allowed to lie in a bed with him and be closer to him, or if they would carry on in their separate beds, though at least they were in the same room and he spoke in an affectionate manner, it could have been much worse.

He had told her in the carriage the afternoon before that he loved her, she wondered if he really did or if he had been saying it only to reassure and calm her, yes he must have cared about her a great deal to do all this for her, but did he really love her? Was he in love with her as she was in love with him? Probably not, but Amelia had not asked him to be, in fact she had assured him that he did not need to be, but she wished that he was.

"I must pin my hair, are the pins there?" she asked as she moved to him.

"Yes," he stood up and let her sit down, "is your hair dry enough?" he asked her looking down at it.

"It will have to do," she told him and she began to pin it up carefully, Peter watched from above for a moment but then sat down on his bed and watched her from there.

"Your hair is so lovely," he said quietly as she curled the lock of white up into the dark mahogany, she smiled and blushed in the mirror.

"You are so silly, Peter," she said quietly and she took the long dark hair in her hands and twisted it up into a bun that she started to pin to the back of her head.

"No, I am serious," he said in surprise, "don't you know how beautiful you are, Amelia?" he asked.

"Don't," she said quietly and she blushed terribly and didn't look at his reflection, she just pinned her hair while they were quiet and then she turned and looked up at him, "you are seeing Erminia's fine clothes," she said quietly. "I am still the plain girl you know who likes to read."

"Amelia," he said her name in concern and he stood up and walked to her, bent down on the floor and looked up at her pretty face, "you look like you've been painted by, by Titian," he settled on an artist, "you are a beauty," he stressed, "I have always been in awe of it, you are a beautiful girl but you do not act like one, you act as though no one has ever told you."

"Only- only a monster has told me, never a man," she said softly and she reached out and touched his face gently, she took her cold fingers away quickly as she realised what she was doing.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered gently and he took her cold hands from her lap and held them, "I think you are strikingly beautiful," he told her and she shivered and held his hands tightly.

"Peter, when- when we are married will you let me kiss you?" she asked quietly looking down at his dark eyebrows, furrowed above his large brown eyes as he looked at their clasped hands.

He swallowed anxiously but said, "of course."

* * *

A hansom cab took them the short distance to St Ann's square, they left all of their belongings in the hotel but Peter did not intend them to stay there another night. He had given Stephens, the red haired carriage driver of Mr Buxton a guinea to stay the night in a coaching inn and then take them an extra twenty-five miles out of Manchester and into the Peak District where Peter knew from asking at the club that he could rent a small cottage for them to live in temporarily. Stephens would pick them up at the hotel at midday and they would spend the day once more travelling, but it would only be for a few hours this time and it would be much less stressful for they would be secure in marriage and they would be travelling to somewhere pleasant and green.

The minister was an older more austere looking chap than the man Peter had met in the club the night before, he did not frown at seeing Peter arrive with the young girl to be married but he certainly did not show any kind of approval. Peter suspected that even if the man had been told that they were in love then he still would have disapproved.

But they had the hansom cab driver as a witness, heavily bribed by Peter and the Reverend delivered the service.

He swore in front of God, whom quite frankly Peter didn't believe in, that he would look after the little girl he married. After travelling the world the majority of his life he found it rather ridiculous that there could only be one all knowing and seeing God and then after meeting Amelia and learning of the unspeakable things that she had been through he was quite sure there was no God. But still he vowed in front of God so that he could be joined to her and so protect her. He did not have any regrets, he had lived his life and in his old age the one comfort he had had before finding that Amelia was in love with him was the pleasure he took from his close friendship with the clever girl. All a marriage would do to change that friendship would be to make sure they were not parted from each other and though in front of "God" he felt terribly guilty for marrying her he knew it was what she wanted.

Amelia held his arm tightly and listened to the stranger in front of her, she had never been to a wedding and she had not been into a church in months, not since she had lost her faith, she knew for a fact that Peter did not believe in God, he had told her. It had been an inadvertent slip and he had not elaborated but they had been in his parlour with his sister discussing the Indian religions and he had scoffed rather cynically that of course there was no God, but before Amelia could ask him any more or tell him that she agreed with him his outraged sister had snapped at him and apologised profusely to Amelia for such blasphemous talk.

Amelia heard herself speak and she was not sure if it was because of the echoing walls in the small church with beautiful stained glass windows but it sounded like someone else's voice, someone calm and happy whereas the girl who really spoke those words was so anxious that something would go wrong, that her brother would burst through the door and pull her out of there away from the man she loved, or that the reverend would suddenly die or the church roof cave in... But nothing did go wrong, and after half an hour Amelia found herself 'Mrs Jenkyns' and there was documentation to prove it.

Amelia stood calm and serene in her pale silk dress, she could not feel the winter cold not through Miss Matty's beige shawl that was around her shoulders as she left the church with her husband. She held onto his arm after watching him pocket the documents and talk to the minister gratefully, she looked up at him and he looked down at her as they walked through the dirty square outside the church, Manchester was filthy and grey but Amelia had never found anywhere more beautiful.

"Thank you, Peter," she pressed her face against his shoulder and closed her eyes as they walked, she smiled and smiled and her teeth shone white in the dirty city, "I love you."

Peter helped her back into the cab and he sat down next to her and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, "I love you too, Amelia," he told her gently and he kissed her cheek, his cold nose skimmed her face and she smiled up at him.

"You don't know how happy I am," she whispered to him and she still smiled.

"Yes, I do," he assured her and his warm eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at her, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out the small silk purse as the driver took them the cold route back to their hotel. "Will you wear this?" he asked her and he gave her the ring. She gasped and looked at it, took it from him and put it on.

"Wherever did you get it?" she looked up at him and down at the ring beaming.

"It- it was my mother's," he admitted.

"Does Miss Matty know you have this?"

Peter shrugged a little, "I have had it since our mother died," he told her, "that was even before I went away, Matty probably thinks I gave it to an Indian princess!" he joked a little, "but I haven't given it to anyone." He said seriously, "I want you to have it, Amelia."

"It- it is so lovely, Peter, thank you," she looked down at the gold ring and shook her head, "it is my favourite colour," she said quietly and she blushed looking at the green stone.

"I know it's ridiculous but I- I wanted to give it to you months ago, as a present I mean, but, of course how inappropriate a present is a ring? I just thought it would go with your green dress." He smiled and Amelia smiled up at him, she wanted to kiss him but she decided she would wait until they were private, away from the world. She knew even though he said he loved her and she now believed that he did, he was ashamed of her, or at least ashamed of being in love with her. Kissing him in public was something she knew not to do. When they were private in their own world it would not matter what they did or said, no one would judge them and they could be happy.

They walked back up to their hotel room and Amelia smiled at the people who welcomed them this time, she knew what Peter's plans were, he had told her that morning while they both still lay in their separate beds.

He closed the door behind them and he smiled at her, he was happy and relieved that he had managed to keep his promise to her, he was happy that they were now legally allowed to be in the same hotel room as each other and he was happy despite himself, that he was married to Amelia and he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

She took her shawl off and she moved close to him, looked up at his kind handsome face and she smiled a little before her mouth felt numb and she found she could not look at him with smiles when she felt so serious. "Am, am I allowed to kiss you now?" She asked him seriously and Peter's smile dropped a little and he was aware of her breathing. She was breathing differently, he touched her arms gently, delicately.

"Because you want to?" he asked quietly and she nodded, "not because you feel you have to?" he clarified and she shook her head, the hairs on her bare arms stood up on end and she shivered, he felt it go right through him.

"I want to," she told him quietly, "I want to kiss my husband."

Peter swallowed nervously and leant down to her kiss. She kissed him, put her hands gently up onto his shoulders and moved her lips against his. She broke away very gently to breathe heavily through her nose, Peter shivered too and moved his hands to her silk covered back, she kissed again at his lips and this time he kissed back softly. Amelia's body shuddered more noticeably in his arms and he took his mouth away from her and let go of her, "Don't," she whispered and she leant her face against his shirt and still hung onto him, "don't let go of me," she pleaded.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently and he stroked the tops of her arms, "are you- do you remember something awful?" he swallowed.

"No," she whispered against him and she pressed her nose against his shirt, "I- I am just overcome," she whispered still, "you do something to me," she admitted, "something that makes me feel weak."

He held her tightly and breathed out rather shakily himself as he realised how strongly she felt for him. He wouldn't take advantage of those feelings, he would kiss her if she asked, but no more, he didn't want to be a monster.


	14. Chapter 13: Safety

Chapter Thirteen: Safety

Harry Stephens drove his two horses out of the dirty industrial town of Manchester, the horses pulled him and his carriage through country roads again and into the cold and beautiful Peak District.

It was where the couple in the back of his vehicle wanted to go. The generous and protective old man had paid him handsomely to stay in Manchester so that he could ferry them again the next day to a new location. Mr Buxton his employer had told him to take them to Liverpool and then come back to Cranford alone but he had also told his driver to listen to Mr Jenkyns.

He noticed today that the girl and the old man were now a lot more comfortable with their situation, they talked and laughed in the back of his carriage and there was not nearly as much crying. He had noticed it though he'd tried not to but at one stop the day before he had pulled the carriage over and tended to his horses but heard the girl crying in the comfort of his carriage. He had not investigated but he had seen from the corner of his eye the old man comfort her and Harry had come to the conclusion that she was definitely on the run from the young boy who he'd seen floored by Mr Jenkyns' punch that morning. Now when they stopped for a rest the girl left the carriage with Mr Jenkyns and took his arm happily, accompanying him into the coaching inns they stopped at.

It was not until the third stop and the occasion when the girl did not leave the carriage she simply sat and enjoyed the views of the countryside that they made their way into, that Harry noticed the ring on her finger, it was something that he felt sure he would have noticed the day before because it had kept him busy, trying to figure out what was going on, he had distinctly noted no wedding ring. She had married in the few hours he had been away from them, correction; they had married. She had married the man that Harry had earlier concluded must be her father.

She spoke to him through the door, opening it a little so she could hear him. "Have you been to the Peak District, Harry?" she asked him.

"No, Miss," he told her.

"It looks very lovely so far," she said not hiding her excitement, "I should think your horses would love to holiday there."

"So this is a holiday, Miss?" Harry asked watching her play with the gold and green ring on the fourth finger of her right hand.

"Yes," she smiled and looked up at him, "a sort of holiday."

"I wasn't sure if you were running away from Cranford," he told her.

"No, I love Cranford," she smiled. "Will you go back all in one night?" she asked him.

"Horses got to sleep, Miss!" he said in amusement and she laughed.

"Yes, of course," she blushed.

"What do you and him talk about?" Harry couldn't help but ask, "I mean, what you got in common?"

"Harry!" Amelia said his name quietly but she smiled still, "We both like to read," she informed him.

"You don't think you might find a young man who likes to read?" Harry said slyly.

"Or a young man who can't read anything but his own name?" Amelia joked and the driver laughed and grinned back at her. "You don't talk to him like that," Amelia said quietly and she raised her eyebrows, "why do you think I'll let you talk to me like that?"

"Because you already are, Miss."

Amelia closed the carriage door and looked away from him but she smiled still. Harry shook his head and moved back to his horses. He shamelessly flirted with Miss Whyte back at the Old Hall but he knew he probably shouldn't have been flirting with the young girl in the back of his carriage, not now he figured she was married to the old man she accompanied. He thought about the old man's left-hook and decided he didn't want to be on the receiving end of it, he'd stop talking to the pretty girl with the unusual hair and he would be a good driver to them.

* * *

"This is lovely, thank you," Amelia said to the little wife of the landlord, "Thank you so much for these things," she looked into the small hamper, "do you think you could get us some potatoes? I shall of course come out into the village tomorrow and see what there is- did you say Wednesdays and Saturdays are market days?"

"That's right, Mrs Jenkyns," the old woman told her, "though not many Wednesdays and Saturdays left until it's too cold for Market days."

"And then is there no way of buying food or supplies?"

"You are new to housekeeping, aren't you?" The woman grinned at her and shook her head, Amelia did not want to say that she had solely been looking after her mother for the past ten years so she smiled wanting to make a friend of the landlady. "I will come and call on you, and you may call on us, your husband has the address. I will find for you whatever you need. Do not worry, my dear," she said with a smile, "you are not down south anymore but you are not in a different country!"

Amelia laughed politely and thanked the old woman for her kindness. She had been given the tour of the house by the old lady as Peter and the man who owned it stood outside and talked seriously of money. The stove in the kitchen and fire in the parlour were straight forward, like those she was used to tending for her mother. The house was full of thick dark curtains to keep out the cold and when they had arrived the landlady had lit the fire to show Amelia how it was done and so now, only half an hour after they had arrived the house was already warming up despite the chill winter wind outside.

They had parted from Harry Stephens and his horses two hours earlier in a small village named Bakewell, Peter had given him a lot of money that he'd tried to refuse and Amelia listened to her husband stressing how important it was that he did not tell anyone, including his employer where he had taken them. Amelia could see that the boy was uncomfortable, after talking to him just briefly she knew he was a good and loyal person and he would have told Mr Buxton if he asked where he had taken them, but Amelia could not have Harry's good loyalty ruin everything and so she had spoken to him too. Told Peter to go for a moment and let her speak to him.

"I cannot accept this, Miss, you have to tell him." Harry protested looking at all the money, he was already paid and kept by Mr Buxton at good wages and this little venture had earned him extra already, he did not want to take money from them.

"Harry you have to take it," Amelia stressed, "You don't understand how important this is, to me," she told him.

Harry shook his head, "I cannot lie to Mr Buxton, he keeps me," Harry pressed.

"Then tell him you took us to Manchester, but do not tell him anymore, it is true. No one can find us, Harry, you- you put me in danger if anyone finds out."

"How in danger?" Harry asked quietly.

"You saw that man, the man who my husband hit yesterday morning?" she asked nervously. The driver nodded, "he is my brother, that man," Amelia told him truthfully for if Mr Buxton were to demand the truth from Harry then Robin's name would be revealed. "But he is not a good man, he would have me sent away, married to someone I do not love," she swallowed nervously, "and I love my husband," she stressed, "I know that must be strange to you, but I do, I love him with all my heart."

"Why does your brother not see that?"

"It is not love that is important to him, not money either, but power and being in control of me." Amelia felt her eyes water, "We- we do not plan to stay here long, I told you. We will return to Cranford, but we need this time so that my b-brother can calm down and will not harm me. Do you understand?"

Harry looked painfully down at her and nodded, "Your brother is not a good example of a young man, Miss," he told her, "I will keep your secret but I won't take his money." He handed her the coins and shook his head. "I do not need it."

"Harry, you are a splendid young man," she whispered gratefully.

And Harry had left them in the inn at the edge of the place with their bags, Peter had asked the innkeeper about property to rent and the man had taken Peter out into the village while Amelia sat in the warm inn having a cup of tea with milk and sugar. Forty minutes or so later, after Amelia had drank two more cups of tea and eaten a scone, her husband had returned with an elderly couple and a horse and cart.

Amelia looked at the rooms interestedly as the old woman showed her around, the beds were bare but the landlady had brought with her on the cart a small hamper of goods for the newlyweds and clean sheets and blankets. There were two rooms upstairs, one small bedroom with a single bed in it and the main room with the large double bed in it and thick warm blue curtains, in the other room there had only been a lace curtain and it was above the front door. This large room was strategically placed above the warm parlour and the stove in the kitchen, it would be fine and warm at night after both the downstairs fires had been lit all day.

Downstairs the parlour was unfortunately not separate from the entrance and so the cold air would come in from the door straight into where they sat and read, but the fire was large and the chairs had high backs. Beneath the staircase was a connecting door to the kitchen, which was small and basic but had a large larder to the side that would certainly keep cool in the northern weather. In the small garden was a shed stacked full of firewood and broken tree branches blown off by the wind.

Amelia liked the house very much, it was a quarter of a mile walk from the main village, sheltered by surrounding trees, the village was a growing little place, soon to become a market town, where they would have easy access to food and supplies. It was different from her first home, isolated in the fens of Cambridge and different from her new home in Cranford slap bang in the centre of a community, it seemed the perfect balance.

Peter had obviously told the old couple that they were from the south and she had not corrected them, Cranford was in the west of England, but with her soft accent and Peter's hard to pinpoint accent of a traveller they could quite easily pass for Southerners.

In the pub when she had sat and taken a late afternoon tea she had looked down at the money Harry had given back to her in the pocket of her fine dress and thought about spending it. She had known that if she gave it back to Peter immediately then he would have chased after the boy and made him take it, believing that he had to bribe him as he had no doubt bribed the hotel the night before to let them stay unnoticed and probably all the other people they had encountered over the past two days. But Amelia knew that Harry would not have taken it and Peter would feel foolish, she planned to give it back to him later in the day but sitting in the pub and looking at the cold windy weather through the window she had a strange urge to spend it on something important. Something that they would no doubt need if they were going to live in such arctic conditions and something that she had found quite useful the night before for steadying her nerves. She had bought a full bottle of whisky from the man at the bar and hidden the bottle in the box with her dress, which she insisted on carrying. She hoped that Peter would forgive her, she regretted it almost as soon as she bought it, but she did not want him to get cold, he had only spent one winter in England over the last however many years and though Cranford got chilly it was nowhere near as cold as the Peak District seemed to be. They would need it, she told herself, to prevent illness.

And so the landlord and his wife left them alone, it was past six and it was dark outside, the old couple had given them plenty of candles and Amelia moved them from where the old woman had placed them around the parlour to the small table between the chairs and on top of the fireplace so that they could sit in some light.

"Do you like it, Amelia?" Peter asked her as he watched her busy herself with the distribution of light.

"I do," she told him quietly and she looked up at him from where she stood by the warm fireplace, he moved to her and too stood in front of the fire. "Are you cold, Peter?" she asked him, "you must be starving." Peter shook his head but he did feel hungry, "Stay here," she told him and she picked up a candle and took it into the kitchen with her, moments later she returned with a glass of whisky for him, "here," she handed it to him. "Sit down, I shall fetch you something to eat, I ate at the inn, you did not, you- you were working hard again," she smiled at him and he drank the whisky.

"That old woman gave you a bottle of whisky?" he said in surprise realising what it was.

"No, I- I bought it from the innkeeper," she admitted, "Harry didn't want your money," she said nervously, "so I took it back."

Peter wondered for a second who Harry was but then realised she meant Mr Buxton's driver, "He did not take it?" Peter said in worry.

"No, no, do not worry," Amelia smiled and touched his chest, "he is a good boy, he won't tell. He promised me."

"You charmed him," Peter smiled affectionately down at her, "did I not tell you you were beautiful?"

She blushed and looked down, "He will not tell," she said again and she looked up at him. "Sit down, Peter, I want to fetch you something to eat."

He nodded and sat down in front of the fire. Amelia left him and took her candle back to the kitchen with her where she looked at what the landlady had left her with and she decided to light the stove and cook him an omelette. The stove took a while to heat up and Amelia stood by candle light preparing the mixture of egg and chopped ham, she buttered bread too and after waiting for the stove to heat she got impatient and made scrambled egg with ham instead, mixing it in the only pan she could find until she knew it must have been cooked. She took it through on a plate she had warmed for him and handed him a fork.

"I think it's scrambled eggs with ham," she told him, "but it's a bit dark in there."

He laughed and felt so much better for eating after just one mouthful. "Where are you going?" he asked her when she did not sit down with him but instead wandered away again.

"I am going to make the bed before it is too dark to see anything at all. I do not want to sleep down here, Peter," she pointed out and she took the armfuls of sheets and bedding from the chair and a candle carefully up the wooden staircase.

Peter ate thoughtfully and wondered if she would make both the beds, he had seen briefly that there were two rooms, one small cold one that he would take and the larger one he would insist she have. He should have been helping her not sitting eating. But she had made it for him and he was suddenly terribly tired again and so he sat in front of the fire after he had finished and he felt himself drifting away from the world. He had done what he had promised, he had married her and taken her somewhere safe, now all he wanted to do was sleep.

Amelia looked at the large bed, she climbed onto it and found it was soft and dry, she was relieved, it would have been awful had the mattress been damp in this old house. She had made the bed but she feared that they needed more bedding, people from the north were notoriously tough but she worried still that Peter would get cold without enough blankets. She would have to keep him warm. She shivered and thought about being in the bed with him, she knew it was strange, not normal, to feel the way she did, but she felt it strongly when she was near him, the urge to be even closer, she wanted to touch his thick silvery hair and kiss his face, she wanted to thank him, show him how grateful she was, and she wanted him to touch her.

She sat down on the made bed and worried about what he would think of her, she already knew that he did not desire her that way. And she knew that he must have thought she was damaged, that her brother had made her that way but that was not the case. She felt sick thinking of what her brother had made her do and the way he had spoken to her and touched her. What she wanted when she was with Peter was to show him how she loved him, not to hurt and shame him or herself. She knew it could be different than what had happened to her, she knew that it was supposed to be an expression of love, she had read about it in poetry and in the books Peter had given her. She would not have been able to identify those feelings if it had not been for the poetry, she was very much in love with him and despite being scared she wanted that closeness.

She worried though that if he did touch her in a way she remembered her brother touching her that she would be frightened or upset by it, she wanted it all to be completely different and she had a feeling that it wouldn't be. And she couldn't bear to associate Peter with anything horrible.

She went downstairs quietly by candle light and saw him sleeping in front of the fire, she hoped he wasn't in a draught, the fire had started to die away without him conscious to tend to it, that was for the best though, it was only half past seven but she could see he was exhausted and she was too. She picked up his bags and her box and took them quietly up the stairs, she changed into her nightdress up there, took her cream wedding dress off with only a small struggle, and wrapped the green robe around herself. Amelia unpacked Peter's bag a little, found his nightshirt and his thick warm robe and put them on the bed before putting his bag to one side with their other things.

She then went quietly back down to the kitchen, picking up his empty plate as she went, the stove was cool and so she went into the parlour where he sat and collected the candles and took them upstairs where she lit their room, their bridal suite. She looked at it nervously and knew in her heart that he would not touch her, but at least she would be allowed to sleep next to him.

She walked down the stairs again with a lone candle in her hand, there were none left in the parlour and the fire was very low, only a few embers burned gently in the grate, it was getting cold, she touched his shoulder and shook it a little, Peter opened his eyes and Amelia shielded the candle so he would not see stars because of it. "Come to bed now," she told him gently and he nodded and stood up wearily.

"Oh, you managed to get your dress off," he said quietly as he looked down at the green robe she wore. She nodded. "Thank you, Amelia, for making the beds, I am so tired."

At the top of the stairs he moved to go to the small room but Amelia took his hand and shook her head, she saw in the candlelight his expression change to one of concern but he held her hand and followed her. "I am not letting you sleep in that cold room," she said quietly.

"Amelia," he said her name cautiously as he looked down at the inviting bed with the candles all around it, "We- I should not sleep in the same bed as you."

"You are my husband," she said quietly, "I want you to. Please," she said quietly.

"But," he started and she put the candle down on the bedside table with the others.

"It's all right," she said quietly, "I- I told you before," she swallowed, "You do not have to desire me, Peter, I- I can understand. I just want to be near you."

He nodded and looked at her standing there with her long dark hair loose and wavy down her back, her face was porcelain white in the candlelight and her eyes were large and dark. Light flickered on her face, "I should like to kiss you again, if you'd let me?" she asked him quietly and she touched his arms softly through his clothes. Peter swallowed and thought about how easy it would be to make love to her, despite the tragedy that had turned her hair white from shock she seemed a very loving girl, it had been so long since he had done anything sexual with a woman and she was so beautiful and her body was so soft up against his…

He leant and kissed her, she put her arms around him and touched his hair gently, Peter held her and kissed her affectionately, he held onto her while she shivered against him and he kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth softly when she moved her mouth to breathe. Amelia shivered as she held onto him and she closed her eyes as he held her up against him, she sighed and leant against him when he stopped kissing her and just embraced her. "I love you," she whispered shakily while he pressed his cold nose against her warm cheek.

"I love you too," he assured her and he squeezed her still tightly. "I'm tired, Amelia," he told her gently and she nodded against him. "Get into bed," he instructed and she let go of him and got into the bed.

Peter took his jacket and waistcoat off and put them on the chest at the foot of the bed, he took the night things she'd laid out for him and walked to the door, "I shall change in the other room," he told her.

"You don't have to," she said quietly, "it's cold in there, I shall close my eyes," she offered and he nodded.

Peter got changed in the warm candlelit room while his young wife lay in their bed with her eyes closed. He felt indecent getting undressed in front of her, he had thought the hotel the night before was bad but this was their life now and it was already difficult. He moved to the bed and got in beside her. Amelia opened her eyes and looked at him, she smiled and moved closer, leant against his side and nervously rested her head on his shoulder holding her hands in front of her. Peter put his arm around her shoulders and looked down at her, he smiled. "Lovely silly thing," he said softly and she closed her eyes and breathed out shakily.

"Would you like the candles blown out?" he asked her softly and she shook her head.

"Not yet," she told him, "Thank you, Peter, for marrying me."

"Not at all," he said flippantly, quietly, "It was my pleasure," he smiled a little and rubbed her shoulder gently.

She smiled, "It was mine," she told him softly, "I love you so much."

She moved from him, sat up a little and kissed his cheek, her hair flopped from behind her ear when she moved and she looked down at his thick white hair, she touched it affectionately, brushed it into place, "You're wonderful, Peter," she said quietly.

"You sweet girl," Peter said gently and he pushed his fingers gently through her silky cold hair, he held it out of her eyes and wanted to return her affectionate kiss, he bent a little and kissed the skin on her neck below her ear, he could feel her pulse race as he kissed it softly.

"Peter," she whispered his name shakily in appreciation for the soft kiss and she put her hands up onto his shoulders and kissed his mouth, Peter kissed back gently and lovingly holding her up against him and was sorry he could not be a proper husband to her on her wedding night, she deserved a normal life and a normal marriage. "Peter, would you like to see me?" she whispered against his mouth and he shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine, Amelia. You don't have to."

"I want to," she pressed her lips against his cheek, "I want to show you, don't you want to see?" she touched his face gently with her cold fingertips, "please," she said again.

"I- only if you want to," he crumbled and gave in.

Amelia moved out from under the covers and shrugged off the thin cotton robe, she pulled the white nightdress over her head and breathed harshly looking at her husband for approval. Peter looked at her lovely soft body in the dim light, she was so pale she shone irridesent, he had thought her face pale before but her body was like porcelain, the only difference in colour was on her pretty pink nipples, dark and pinched hard in her obvious excitement.

"You're so perfect," he told her quietly and she moved next to him on the bed again but did not get under the covers she kissed his cheek gratefully and sat next to him leaning her head on his shoulder once more. Peter felt anxious as he sat under the covers with the naked girl sat at his side. He didn't know why he hadn't told her not to take her clothes off. She'd just seemed so eager to do it and he hadn't wanted to upset her. He told himself not to be excited, not to be passionate, not to say anything amorous, just to tell her she was lovely, like a painting. He put his arm around her again and touched her naked shoulder softly, her skin was like silk. She reached for his other hand, which was on top of the covers in his lap, she held it instead in her lap and he let her. "You're beautiful," he told her and her pale white skin shivered, she rubbed her long legs together gently and pressed them against him for warmth.

"I would like it, if you touched me," she told him and she brought his hand up to her chest, she looked up at his face anxiously.

"I- I wasn't sure if you would," he said quietly.

"You- you do want to touch me, don't you?" she said unsurely, "because, you don't have to, of course," she said nervously.

"Amelia," he breathed her name "I- of course I want to," he pressed his nose against her hair and kissed painfully. As soon as she had taken her clothes off he had forgotten everything he'd spent the last two days telling himself, as soon as she'd sat there beautiful and pale and breathing so deeply he had known he could not say no to her.

"Oh," she said in happy surprise and she shivered, "thank you," she whispered and she put his left hand in its rightful place covering one of her breasts, he breathed out shakily and felt the soft weight of it in his palm. He cupped her breast gently in his hand and squeezed it, "kiss me again," she moved her face to his pleadingly and kissed him as he warmed her naked skin. She held onto him tightly, her right hand clutching at the shirt on his chest, she pushed her hand down further beneath the covers as he kissed her and stroked her skin gently, moving his fingers to her nipple he felt the hard silky skin between his fingers and she gripped at his leg through his warm shirt until she found what she was looking for.

"No," he said quickly and let go of her, pushed her hands away from him, "no, don't do that, Amelia," he whispered, "please don't."

"I thought you wanted to. It- it is our wedding night," she tried pleadingly, "there would be nothing wrong," she whispered to him but he shook his head and looked down at her, naked on the covers, her body lusting for him. He shook his head still though he too longed for her suddenly.

"I- I am not young like you, Amelia," he tried, "I would not want to disappoint you."

"Disappoint me?" she asked quietly, "I do not understand."

"It- it gets harder for men," he said gently, "when they are older, it is not because you are not beautiful, you- you are. But I am so tired, too tired to do this."

"But- but we shall do this," she whispered, "won't we?" she looked up at him pleadingly. "Peter, I ache for you, my- my body aches for you. I feel such strong feelings," she said nervously and her voice shook as she confessed, "my heart beats hard, not just in my chest, all over my body. My- here," she held her fingers up to her breast, brushed her fingertips against the hard nipple that he had been touching gently and she shivered and looked down at his hands rather than up at his face, "I ache for you, Peter," she whispered again.

Peter watched and listened, he had married a quiet and intelligent girl who despite her hardships seemed to have a large sexual appetite, when she had finished, when she sat still on the bed and looked nervously up at him he put his arms around her and kissed her again.

"Not tonight," he told her against her lips, "not tonight, but I will relieve your aches," he said gently, "I will pleasure you, Amelia."

She shivered all over and she put her arms up around his neck and she sighed, "I- I don't understand," she admitted but she smiled as he moved her gently down on the bed, pushed the blankets off himself and he lay next to her, up against her. He stroked her body realising he could not be married to her and completely ignore her yearnings. He had never wanted to upset her, to touch her and remind her of her awful past but by not touching her when she wanted him to he would upset her more. He vowed to be gentle and to be kind to her body, he would not do anything for himself, just for her. He pushed his hand gently down her soft white skin and over long soft legs, she shivered at this and her limbs flinched nervously.

"I will do nothing that will hurt you," he promised, she nodded.

"I know," she whispered and he kissed her cheek softly and returned his hand to her breasts, which he touched gently.

"I love you, Amelia," he said softly, she closed her eyes and shivered, her face flushed in excitement at hearing him say those words while he touched her tingling body.

He moved again, moved his face down to her and kissed at her chest gently, Amelia shivered and put her hands softly up against his face, her fingers strayed into his hair and they stayed there as she shivered under his lips and his soft wet tongue.

While Peter kissed her skin he moved his hands over her body gently, her legs were pressed tightly together but she sighed and let him open them, she breathed shakily as his large hands massaged at her thighs gently, he moved again in the bed and she let go of his thick silvery hair as he moved down.

He kissed her thigh softly and Amelia's leg twitched against his cheek, he heard her make a small noise as his face tickled her soft thighs. She looked down at him nervously, watched him kissing her skin so gently, it made her shiver and shake to watch him and to feel his lips kiss and the stubble on his face scratch lightly at her legs.

He moved his strong hands to her secret place and he stroked her gently, spread her open to him and he moved his face from her leg and kissed her. Amelia breathed in through her mouth and gasped, she continued to breathe harshly as her husband's mouth became fixed on her, she did not look down to see him she simply closed her eyes and felt intense pleasure from his attention.

She sighed shakily and her legs twitched against his face, she moved her fingers from his hair and raised her cold hands to her hot face, she felt breathless and her body shivered but she let herself smile a little in relief, relief that the man she loved was being so gentle with her, that there was a way that he could touch her and it did not hurt at all, it did not remind her of anything she had experienced before. She recognised the feeling though, she had felt at night, in her dreams when she was safe and with him and now it was real and it was so much more. Amelia felt the tightness in the pit of her stomach snap suddenly and her body reacted, pulsated against him. He moved his tongue against her as she came to her climax, she shuddered against him and cried out. Her sighs were almost louder than Peter had ever heard her speak or laugh, the tension that had been built up in her evidentially needed to be released.

He removed his mouth and he put her legs together for her, he moved up on the bed and looked down at her shaky body, her face was pink and hot and she breathed heavily through her mouth. Gripped again by irrational fear he wondered if she had enjoyed her experience or if she hated him, she had not said anything for the last twenty minutes, he swallowed anxiously. She smiled and opened her eyes to look at him, he lay down next to her and she put her arms around him and kissed his mouth softly, she kissed and kissed gratefully, tasting herself on his lips. "You did something wonderful to me," she whispered, "Peter, you- you are so wonderful. Thank you."

"The pleasure was mine," he said again quietly to her.

"I- I have felt that before," she whispered, "I have dreamt of you and felt that before."

He shivered and put his arms around her, pulling her soft naked body up against him. "You mad girl," he said still in disbelief.

"Not like that though," she admitted as she pressed her nose against his cheek and held onto him tightly, "you're so wonderful," she sighed and she closed her eyes sleepily.

"Here, put your nightdress on," he told her gently and he sat up and found it for her, it was on the bed still, warm and crumpled beneath them, "it's time for bed now."


	15. Chapter 14: Doubt

Chapter Fourteen: Doubt

"And you knew nothing of this relationship?" The thin young man bent and spoke to Mrs Forester and Miss Pole in the village store. It was early, the shop had just opened but already the two women stood inside out of the cold and awaited their friend Miss Tomkinson. They had arranged to meet there after leaving each other very late the night before. Since Peter Jenkyns had left with young Miss Walker- something that none of them had actually seen but all were whispering about- on Thursday morning they had been talking about it constantly. They had not met Miss Walker's brother up until this point, Saturday morning, he had spent the first day with his mother recovering from his months of travel and the shock at seeing his sister kidnapped and the second day he had spent at the Old Hall with Mr Buxton waiting for the driver to return and hear news of his sister.

It was evident that there was no news.

"We were not close," Mrs Forester started to say but Miss Pole cut her off.

"I knew," she said quickly, "I could tell from the beginning. Mr Jenkyns is a good man- a stupid man," she shook her head, "to take a young girl's flattery and believe it to be worth something- oh," she went pink and looked up at the boy wondering if his mother had confided in him the secrets she had confided in her. "I am sorry to tell you, young man, but your sister was blindingly obvious with her affections. Many times I saw them alone together, Mr Jenkyns must have thought nothing of it- he, he can be quite detached from reality," she whispered, "he has spent all his life travelling, he does not know how to behave in polite society. We should not blame him entirely for not realising what he was doing with your sister was wrong."

"I really think you have it wrong," Mrs Forester said quietly to her companion.

"I know what I saw," she hissed at her friend, "Look," she pointed a small hand up to Robin Walker's patient face, "Do you see what has been done to this good young man?"

Mrs Forester observed the bruise beneath his right eye and nodded apologetically.

"It's true," Miss Pole insisted, "Miss Matty's brother struck this boy, there is the evidence."

Robin cleared his throat and interrupted, "I am sure he must have believed his reasons," he said calmly, "I have it from all that he is a good man and I can understand that flattery from one so young must have been a most welcome surprise, and I know that flattery is hard to resist."

"So- so you do not worry for your sister's safety?" Mrs Forester said in confusion.

"Of course I do," he agreed, "but contrariwise I worry too for Mr Jenkyns' safety with my sister. My mother has told me that she has been prone to lies and violence- something she cannot help," he stressed, "but something I wish to help her with."

Miss Pole raised her hand to her face, "violence?" she gasped.

"But she always seemed such a timid girl," Mrs Johnson the shopkeeper's wife spoke from across the room, she too was interested in the scandal and could not help getting involved.

"It is much out of character, I have been told," he looked up at her, "I- I can scarcely believe it myself, but my mother has told me of reasons why they had to move from our old home to your village, and I regret to say it was because of my sister's behaviour towards- towards members of the opposite sex."

The villagers did not pry though at hearing this they desperately wanted to. None of them really knew Amelia and so could not comment but as usual Miss Pole was keen to speak to the young man and so did.

"You must speak to Miss Matty, Mr Jenkyns' sister," she told him, "she told me of once when your sister was visiting them that she suddenly stood up and left, right in the middle of taking tea with them- shouting at poor Miss Matty."

"Have you spoken to Miss Jenkyns, yourself?" Robin asked, "you are her friends, I mean, have you not asked her about this incident?"

Mrs Forester shook her head, "I wanted to-" she started.

"The embarrassment!" Miss Pole said under her breath, "If it was me I would not want to see anyone after my own brother had assaulted a young man and- and stolen a young girl from her family."

"I do not wish to question her," he admitted, "I fear she will feel too guilty looking at me, for she was involved in a small way. I do forgive her," he added, "it is not her fault if she was deceived. I- I wait for anyone to tell me anything that might help."

"You are such a good boy," Miss Pole told him, "You must be heartbroken by all of this."

"I am a little," he tried to smile.

"I did see Miss Walker talk to Mr Jenkyns once in my shop," Mrs Johnson had moved around her counter and now she stood with the others and bowed her head to the young gentleman, "they spoke in French to one another, so as not to be understood. It was she who said it," the shopkeeper covered her face with her hand and shook her head, "and when I ordered in a French text for Miss Whyte's studies I looked up the word that I remembered. She said to him 'bisous'."

"What does that mean?" Miss Pole asked in shock and Mrs Johnson just shook her head still too ashamed to look any of them in the eye.

"It means 'kiss'," Robin Walker told them gently and the little pink woman gasped in horror and staggered back a little.

"When was this?" Mrs Forester asked the shopkeeper who still shook her head.

"It was months and months ago," she whispered. "Just after your mother and sister had arrived," she looked up at Mr Walker, "I thought I must have misremembered it, but here is the proof, she was- she was like that towards him as soon as she saw him."

"Mrs Johnson," Robin said kindly, "You were not to know," he assured her, "My mother thought it would be safe bringing her here, did not think that a town with no younger men in it would be bad for her daughter and her," he swallowed, "her inclinations."

* * *

Amelia woke up with a start, her breathing was quick and she must have cried out for her husband who slept beside her woke up too and sat up in the large bed, "you're safe," he told her, "you're safe, Amelia," he assured her and she looked up at him in startled amazement.

"P-Peter?" she gasped at seeing him and she sat up and reached for him, put her arms around him. "It is you- we, we are married," she said to herself in relief and he rubbed her back gently through her warm white nightshirt. "Oh god- I, I'm so foolish," she whispered and pressed her face against his chest, "I thought it was all a dream."

"You dreamt this was a dream?" he smiled a little and spoke softly and comfortingly.

"No I- I thought something else was happening," she whispered, "and that all of this never happened, I never even met you." She shivered and he felt it go through him, he shivered too as he remembered the night before and what he had done to her, brought out a feeling in her that she did not know she was capable of. It must have brought on her nightmares, he shouldn't have done it. After being so tired the night before he had allowed himself to get lost in her beautiful young body and afterwards it had put her straight to sleep, Peter, despite having been so tired then lay awake with her sleeping peacefully in his arms for what felt a long time, regretting what he had done.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, he decided he must mention it, for if he was to not mention it then she would have locked it away in her mind with the other terrible things that had happened to her and this way, with apology he might be able to erase it. "I should not have done to you, what I did last night. I won't do it again," he said quietly and Amelia looked up at him and her cheeks blushed in embarrassment, a smile twitched on her face but she stayed serious like him.

"You- you do not have to do anything you don't want to, Peter." She shivered, "I liked it very much," she whispered, "you don't know how- how nervous I was, being in bed with you, but," she swallowed and looked down at her hands on his chest, "the feeling you brought out in me- feelings you have always brought out in me," she smiled a little, "so- so warm and such pleasure," she breathed through her nose heavily as she thought about it, "and inside me, you- you can't imagine what I felt, Peter," she whispered, "and I was so relaxed, so comfortable in your arms after that that I fell asleep almost instantly." She looked up at him, "I won't ask you to do that again," she said softly and she swallowed, "did you think it was wrong?"

Peter raised his eyebrows a little and shook his head as she looked up at him from his shoulder, he did not know what to say, he found his voice after a moment's silence. "I- I would do anything for you," he admitted, "I worried you would think it was- was wrong, but you, you liked it?" he asked and she nodded and smiled at him, "it is not wrong," he assured her, "to feel like you do, and it is not wrong for- for a husband to kiss his wife," he felt odd saying it, as though he was reassuring himself rather than her. "For me to want to- to please you."

"It did, you did please me," she whispered.

"You did not have nightmares because of it?" he asked nervously and she looked up at him and swallowed, she shook her head.

"No," she assured him, "no, not because of you." She stressed. "Peter, what- what he did to me, it is nothing like you."

"But, Darling," he said painfully, "Darling, I'm scared. I don't know what will frighten you and what will please you."

"You do," she said gently, "Everything you do will please me," she whispered shakily, "I can open my eyes and- and see the handsome face of my husband," she moved up in the bed and put her hands on his face, pushed her fingers through his hair a little, "feel your gentle touch and hear your kind voice," she put her mouth on his and kissed him gently, he did not dare to kiss back. "Peter," she said his name shakily, "I love you, with all my heart, and my body is yours, I trust you."

"Amelia," he touched her hair softly, held her warm face in his hands and stroked his hands gently over her neck. "I- I'm sorry, if you felt I did not desire you. I do. Of course I do."

"I know," she said softly.

"I- I did not want to."

"I know."

"I never want to remind you of- of what he did to you."

"I know," she said again. "You won't."

* * *

Matty reread the letter that the red haired boy had delivered to her. That evening Mr Buxton had come down in his carriage straight to her house and with his driver given her the letter, her brother and Amelia had been gone for three days and she had not gone out of her house for fear that her friends and neighbours would either snub her or demand answers of her. She had helped them, why had she done it?

She didn't like to imagine what Miss Pole and her other friends were saying about all of them, about Peter and Amelia and even about herself and Mr Buxton, they had played a huge part in the scandal.

Robin Walker had been out in the village talking to the old ladies of Cranford, he had been asking them innocent questions about his sister about what sort of woman she'd grown into to do such a thing. Matty was glad she was not out there to be questioned by the boy, she would not have been able to look at him for shame.

Mr Buxton had not opened the letter; it was addressed to her and Harry Stephens the young Yorkshire lad who had been key in her brother's elopement had told him he was to deliver it to her and no one else. She had opened it in front of them, and read it herself before automatically giving it to Mr Buxton and looking at Harry.

"Dearest Matilda, do not hate me for what I have done." Mr Buxton read out loud under the candlelight at the empty desk in the corner of the room, "Take comfort in the fact that Amelia and I are now married and we have not done- and never have done- anything we are ashamed of." Mr Buxton shook his head while he read it, "I will write to you again soon once we are settled somewhere safe. No doubt you realise now that this is not a simple elopement, I am sorry we did not explain things to you, Amelia begged me to keep her secrets and they are not things I would want you to know anyway. Please think on Amelia's reactions at seeing her brother again, they were not the same reactions as you had on seeing me." He looked down at Matty and then up at Stephens who stood in silence his eyes to the floor.

"Did you see them married?" Matty asked the boy anxiously.

He shook his head, "but I know they are, yesterday morning. She wears a gold and green ring on her finger."

"A ring means nothing," Mr Buxton said quickly but Matilda raised her hands to her face.

"Gold with a green stone?" she asked quietly. Harry nodded, "it- it was my mother's ring."

"Then he has given it to her." Mr Buxton said flippantly but he looked angrily at his servant, "Do you understand that that girl's poor mother and brother are desperate to find out her whereabouts?" he said sharply, "the boy has been away for ten years and has not seen his sister in all that time, he has not slept since he returned trying to figure out where she has gone- waiting for you to return and now you tell him nothing!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said quietly and he swallowed, "Mr Jenkyns writes it in his letter, the reason why I cannot tell," he stressed quietly, "that girl is terrified of her brother."

Mr Buxton looked outraged, "They told you these lies?"

"They are not lies, sir," Harry said calmly but he could not look at his employer's face. He had not said anything to Mr Buxton in the last half hour of questioning back at the hall but they had both read it in the letter now, he didn't feel like he had to keep it a secret when it was so obvious.

"My brother said this to you? That they are running from Mr Walker?" Matty asked.

"No, Missus," Harry said quietly and looked up at the kind old lady, stress etched on her face, "He would not give me a reason, tried to pay me off, but I did not want his money, told him Mr Buxton provides well for me," Mr Buxton made a noise with his tongue and shook his head but the boy continued, "it was the girl who told me why they had run away, that her brother was cruel and would not let her marry for love."

"She has not seen him since she was a child!" Matty stressed and shook her head looking up at her tall irritated fiancé "Why would she tell such lies?"

"He grabbed her," Harry said and the man and woman looked at him in surprise, "I saw him, he grabbed her the other morning and she- she looked like, like she would faint away," he stressed. "He writes that in your letter, did you not see that look in her eye?"

Matty shook her head in shock more than denial, "It- it is what I said," she looked up at Mr Buxton, "it must be, that he- he reminds her of something awful. Her father?" she said quietly.

"I don't know," he sighed, "I don't know, Matty. But- but you believe they really are married?"

"Yes," Matty said in surprise, "of course they are. Peter is- is a good man, he would not steal her away like that, even," she swallowed and spoke quietly and nervously, "even if that's what it looked like."

"He is a good gentleman," Harry said quietly, "and she is a good sweet girl."

"We know nothing of her real character," Mr Buxton said quickly shooting a glance at his servant, "Matty, her, her whole personality might have been an act! From what I am told by the mother she- she is delusional, maybe unbalanced."

Harry swallowed painfully and looked up at them. "With respect, sir, you do not know what you speak of," he said in a low voice.

"Get out of here," Mr Buxton said angrily to the boy, "wait outside, you are a liar as much as she is."

Harry looked dangerously at his employer, he was as tall as the impressive old man and he was young and strong, but he would not challenge him again, he dropped his eyes, nodded, turned and left the house.

"No, no," Matty said painfully, "she cannot be a liar, I- I thought that of her before. That she- that she was only coming here in order to- to seduce Peter."

"And that is what she had done," Mr Buxton pointed out.

"But she- she is not of that character," she swallowed, "she is in love with him, in love with his intelligence, she does not lust after him! How can you believe what the mother says about her? When you have met her and have seen what a timid little soul she is, she cannot even let herself be touched by me for she is so uncomfortable with physical contact!" Matty felt her eyes start to water as she defended the girl who was now in all probability her sister-in-law, "She was- was crushed to be without his friendship, crushed to- to the point of illness, Jonathan!" she stressed and she looked up at Mr Buxton who looked down at her sorrowfully, but he still did not accept her explanation.

"I don't know what to believe, Matty," he said quietly, "all I know is that Robin Walker and his mother want to find Amelia, and I am duty-bound to help them do so."

"Let them be, please, Jonathan," Matty insisted and she held her fiancé's hands, "please, wait, wait until Peter writes again, at least. You don't know where they are! You cannot find them from what we know," she shook her head, "he will not harm her, I believe that they are safe together, there is no need, no great urgency to- to rescue her," she said incredulously.

"I am aware that your brother is a good man," he said quietly. "But Amelia's brother is also a good man, a man who has been providing for his family from far across the other side of the world. He has a right to be with his sister." He touched her arms gently and sighed, "But you are right, I can tell them nothing if I know nothing. Perhaps your brother's future letters will reveal their location."

* * *

"I do not understand why I cannot go and talk to her."

"Darling," Mrs Walker said quietly to her son, "is it not better this way? Without her," she stressed, "She- she has caused us both so much trouble."

"It is the principle, mother," Robin raised his eyebrows and moved to the sofa where his mother sat looking at him, she smiled at having him closer to her and she reached out and touched his face affectionately, he let her.

"Dear boy," she said quietly, "She is a lost cause," she brushed his sandy hair with her fingers and was so reminded of her late husband, she sighed a little at watching those familiar pale eyes looking up at her. "I am so happy to have you, do you not see, we don't need her."

He shook his head and pushed her hands away, he sat up straight on the sofa and frowned, "your daughter has been stolen away by a dirty old man!" he said incredulously, "that old man's sister lives only houses away, you say Amelia was spending time with them there, she could know where your daughter is being kept! Being held, mother!" he said wide-eyed, "Amelia has been kidnapped and you want to carry on as though we are better off without her? Think of what she is being subjected to."

"No, I- I think Amelia brought this on herself," she folded her arms and spoke coldly, "she had been shamelessly flirtatious around that man, you- you know what she is like, what she did last summer." She finished with a shudder.

"Her mind is addled, yes," Robin agreed, "she has ungodly appetites, but she is still the daughter that looks after you."

His mother shuddered again and looked up at him, "I, I never believed her, Darling," she assured him, "you are such a good boy, I knew there was something wrong with her. It- I couldn't bear it, being looked after- as you put it- by her, her disgusting hands touching my food, it would make me wretch. But I have you, I have you now. I do not want her."

Robin embraced his mother and the old woman cried against his shoulder and hung onto him tightly, "mother," he said softly, "I do not propose to bring her back here to live with us, do not be ridiculous. She needs proper treatment, I will be with you now forever, but Amelia needs to be with doctors who can help her." His mother nodded a little, "You said he was a foolish old man," he cooed quietly, "he will soon see what she is like, she will soon betray him and maybe then he will bring her back here, away from her temptations." Robin smiled down at his mother and raised his eyebrows again, "then we shall take her to the doctors and they will take care of her."

"And if they don't come back?" Mrs Walker asked her child and he pushed her away gently and looked her in the eye.

"Maybe, maybe I can do what you ask," he said shrugging, "but I should like to find her," he said quietly, "find out where they are so that when Amelia does betray that foolish old man I will be there to offer my help." He smiled sadly, "I will not question the old woman, Mother. Mr Buxton tells me what she knows anyway, I will drop it, if that's what you wish."

"Darling, you are so good to your sister- and to me," Mrs Walker said gratefully, "after she accused you of such terrible lies and now- now this, if I were you I would not want to see her again but- but you are truly an angel. You just want to help her."

"I remember when we were children," Robin smiled, "and she was my playfellow, I cannot forget those days."

"Oh, my darling boy, can you forgive me for separating us all these months?"

"Mother, I forgave you months ago, you know that." He smiled at her, "She is manipulative, you are only a woman," he said gently, "you were not to know of her other side."

* * *

Amelia laid the table in the kitchen and wiped the sweat away from her brow, she smiled happily down at the mismatched plates and the bottle of wine on the table. She had been working on the dinner, a roasted dish of chicken and chicory in a mustard and cream sauce since she and her husband had returned from their walk in the town. They had explored and asked the people selling in the market about local walks and beauty spots. But it had been a cold day and they had not really wanted to go walking, just to see it all a little at a time. They had spent the morning looking at their house now they could see it in the light and they had written lists of things that they thought they might need over the coming month, for they had discussed it in front of the fire with their breakfast and tea, just how long they would stay.

When Matty married Mr Buxton she would move to Cranford Old Hall and live with him there, that would leave the Jenkyns' family home to Peter and his new wife. Amelia did not want to ask what would happen if they returned and her brother was still there, Peter had assured her that there was no doubt in his mind that her mother and brother would leave the village for fear of the truth coming out. In actuality he had no idea what would happen, only that if he had wronged someone so terribly he would not pursue them, he would want to be as far away as possible for fear of it being made clear what he had done. He told Amelia that they would keep the house in the Peak District if it suited them and they could travel to Cranford to assess their options and if her family were still there then they could not harm her because she was now Mrs Jenkyns, but also they had the option to leave and return to their other home.

Amelia did not let herself think of it, she agreed with Peter that they would stay at least two months, they would spend the rest of December there, all of January and some of February. They were surely the worst and coldest months, if the house was decent while they lived there in that time they knew it would be fine to keep indefinitely.

Peter was in the parlour in front of the fire reading a book on local history that he'd picked up in the market. When they had returned he had helped Amelia in the kitchen until she had asked him not to. It seemed the kitchen would never be a place for him whomever he lived with. That morning they had happily unpacked and rearranged things in the house together, he had put all the books he had brought with him on the shelves in their bedroom as Amelia had insisted they be in the room least likely to get damp, she had arranged vases of winter flowers in the windows- she had collected holly branches from the garden and some of them bore bright red berries, it looked festive and pretty.

They had hung their clothes together in the wardrobe and though the white silk dress was something Amelia probably would not wear again she wished to keep it to remind her of the sweet girl who gave it to her and never to think bad of her again. After unpacking the clothes Peter had decided that when they were in the village Amelia should have new clothes and Amelia had decided that he too had packed rather hastily and brought a ridiculous array of shirts and waistcoats but a decidedly unsatisfactory amount of trousers, and so Peter should have new clothes too.

They had found a woman offering dressmaking services through a local lady selling home made lace in the market. The little woman who cannot have been very old measured Amelia thoroughly in her home and told her she would have a new purple dress by the end of the week. She also agreed that Peter would have a second pair of trousers and her husband would see to that. Peter had given the little woman money and told her to speak to his wife, Amelia came out of the woman's house with a parcel tied in string, underwear and stockings as well as a new nightdress that was not quite as old fashioned as the one Miss Matty had given her, were all within.

"Dinner," Amelia stood by his side and smiled at him warmly, he set down his book and stood up following her to the kitchen.

"Darling, it looks marvellous," he said and he squeezed her shoulders as she stood in front of him and looked down at the candlelit table. It was five in the evening and it was dark again, they had not taken full advantage of the daylight, they had stayed in bed quite late talking to one another and when they had eventually got up they had to light fires and heat water before they could wash and dress, Amelia had walked around the house in her nightdress, gown and shawl. The next day they both knew they would get up properly and start a routine, Amelia had decided while in the warm kitchen cooking the dinner that she would get up before him always and light the fires, she would bring hot water up to him after first washing herself at the kitchen sink, that way he could wash and busy himself while she dressed quickly and made his breakfast. She wanted everything to be as easy as possible for him because she'd already made it so hard.

"You sit here," she told him, giving him the head of the table which was closest to the parlour door and the other warm fire, she sat in front of the stove so that she could reach for things from on top of it. "A glass of wine, with your dinner?" she smiled at him and he laughed a little.

"Ho ho," he said and raised his eyebrows, "don't mind if I do. Will you join me?"

She nodded and smiled the grin that he recognised now implied she was truly very happy. He poured the wine and she served them dinner with slices of warm bread and butter on the side.

She watched him eat with fondness, she had served him a larger portion than herself and she could only eat a little while she sat so happy with him in their home. "I have not had anything so wonderful since I was abroad," he told her and he reached and touched her hand on the tabletop. She beamed at him.

"What did you eat in India?" she asked interestedly.

"Spices, spices, spices," he smiled, "everything is fragrant and rich," he said in a warm tone, "And this Amelia, is very like that, I do not think Miss Matty has ever cooked chicory in her life, and never mustard seeds!"

She smiled still, "It was something described in one of those adventure books that you leant to me," she admitted and he raised his eyebrows in delight.

"Is it really?" he asked and he laughed, "here's a fact for you, Amelia," he told her, "the writer was a chef."

"A chef!" Amelia said in her own delight, "yes of course! That's why he writes so much of food! Why did I not see that?" she giggled, "that's why I did not need a recipe, it practically was one!"

"And," he said quietly raising an eyebrow, "his grandfather was a negro," he told her.

"Really?" she said in excitement, "how wonderful, that must account for the mustard seeds. I have read that African cooking is very fragrant too," she told him and he grinned at her and drank his wine.

Amelia nibbled on her bread and butter and felt pink and hot from the wine and the heat in the kitchen. She looked at Peter and was so grateful for him, when he had unpacked the books that morning she had seen some familiar titles but most were books he had never given her, he told her he planned to read them to her. He had picked up an anthology of poems that morning while she pinned up her hair and he had read to her in his deep and rumbling voice a verse of French poetry that had seemed so sweet and glorious that she had wanted to stand up against him and put her lips to his throat, feel the soft words as they left his body. He had been so gentle with her body the night before, been so loving and generous with his kisses and she had done nothing for him. It had been the most wonderful warm and safe feeling she'd ever experienced and it had run right through her, he'd done something to her the night before that was so intimate and so special that she never wanted to be away from him, even being in the room next to him was too much. She watched him finish his dinner and drink the wine. "Will we go to church, Peter?" she asked him.

"What?" he asked in surprise, taken off-guard by her question.

"In the village, will we go to church tomorrow?"

"Do you want to go?" he asked her in amazement.

"I- I thought it would be a way to meet people, and," she said nervously from behind her glass, "I like the Christmas service, we- we will not be welcome if we do not go at least these two weeks up to Christmas."

"I thought you- I thought you did not believe in God."

"I don't," she smiled and blushed, "but I like the songs. And Christmas," she said softly.

He laughed a little. "I will go if you want to go," he nodded.

"Oh thank you, Peter," she put her glass down and touched his arm, "I do so like the Christmas songs and the- the stories," she admitted.

"You like the stories?" He grinned.

"You know I like any kind of story," she blushed still and squeezed his arm, "I do not care for all the horrible stories of course, but they are only nice ones at Christmas."

"You should hear some of the old stories from India."

"Tell them to me," she whispered and she moved her hand down to his.

"Indian folk stories are of romance," he said softly, "not people killing each other because God tells them to, only of people so broken hearted that they turn into statues or," he thought for a moment, "of animals doing surprisingly clever things," she grinned at him.

* * *

Amelia cleared the plates away and put a plate over the remaining food to keep for the next day, Peter helped her wash the dishes by candlelight and he stacked them on the draining board carefully while she tidied the table and the wine.

"Is it too dark for us to read in the parlour?" he asked her as he helped her to carry the candles through the door.

"It is not too dark for you to read to me in bed," she said.

"Is it not a little early for bed?" he smiled at her fondly and she blushed and looked down at her feet.

"It is dark out and it is cold," she shrugged, "I thought it would be a good idea to be warm in our bed. Are you not even a little tempted?" she smiled at him. "We do not have to- to undress for bed, we may just lie on it decadently," she grinned and he laughed a little.

"All right, fine," he gave in, "I am tired, you are right."

"Oh good," she said in obvious excitement and she checked once more that the stove in the kitchen was out, opened and closed the small window that allowed air to get in and be burned, it was out, still hot but not burning. In the parlour she saw that the flames still burned a little but they were not long. "You- you go ahead, Peter, choose a book, I will sit here and wait for the fire to go out."

"No, Amelia, I'll do that," he told her in gentle protestation.

"I insist," she told him, "go and be warm."

"I am warm," he insisted. "Amelia, is this what you did for your mother? You do not have to have all the responsibility any longer."

"I- I do not want to make your life more difficult," she stressed and looked up at him, "I will not do that, Peter."

"Amelia, I- I want to make your life easier," he confessed.

"You have," she stressed again and she moved to him and put her arms around him, he held onto her tightly and stroked her back. "I- I just want you to have the life you had," she told him, "before I made you do all this for me."

"Darling," he said gently, "My life has changed, I want yours changed too. Let me do half these chores at least," he begged her, she shook her head.

"I am to look after you," she whispered, "I want to."

"No," he told her. She looked up at him as he let go of her and looked down at her, "we are to look after each other," he said softly and he moved to one of the high-backed armchairs and sat down in it, he still held her hand and he pulled her to him, "come here," he said gently and she sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck gratefully, he held her gently and they sat in front of the dying fire. "This is our life now," he told her gently and she shivered and pressed her nose against his chin, touched the back of his neck and his soft hair with her fingertips.

She kissed his neck softly and pressed her forehead against his cheek. "I love you so much, Peter," she told him quietly and she closed her eyes as he held her gently in his arms.

After half an hour in their silent embrace the fire died away and Amelia stood up and reached for her husband's hands. She helped him up and they took the candles from the side tables and carried them carefully up the stairs with them. Their bedroom was not as warm as the kitchen or the parlour but it would soon warm with them in it and the many candles.

"What sort of story would you like?" he asked her as he took a candle to the bookshelf. "A scary story?" he raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"Peter!" she smiled and unpinned her hair by the mirror, it fell in long waves and curls down her back and she pushed her fingers through it.

"A sad story, perhaps?" he tried again, "or one of Dumas' recipes? For tomorrow's dinner." He grinned and looked at the spines of the books he'd brought with him.

"Read me some poetry," she said quietly and she sat on her side of their bed and kicked her shoes off. "I liked it this morning."

"Ah, something romantic," he said picking up the book and taking it to the bed, he handed it to her and she looked through the titles while he set the candle down and took his own shoes off before sitting on their bed next to her. "This?" he asked her as she handed it to him, he put his glasses on and looked down at the words, Amelia leant her face against his chest and he put his arm around her and held the book in front of both of them.

He read to her the poem, the French words leaving his mouth so naturally, he read softly and slowly so she could translate it in her head, when he finished he looked down at her, took his glasses off and gazed at his snow-white lover, "Why did you choose that poem?" he asked her nervously.

"I'd never heard it before," she said quietly, "and I wondered if it was anything like Keats' Autumn sonnet."

"Did you think it was?"

"No," she said quietly. "But I still liked it," she looked up at him and smiled, "Qu'aimez-vous de moi?" she asked him.

"That's not what she asks of her strange lover," he looked down at her and smiled a little, "she asks what he thinks she is worth."

Amelia shook her head, "I think it is the same question, and besides it is you who should ask me, I am your strange lover."

"You are not strange," he smiled, "you do not think this poem is- is about us, Amelia?"

"No," she said quietly. "I am not cold," she said looking at the words, "You- you are not scared of passion. What is this?" she asked pointing at the line, "let us love…" she could not translate.

"Let us love sweetly, or gently," he said quietly.

"It is about love and death," she said, it sounded like a question so he answered her.

"I- I think it is about physical love," he said softly, "and the kind of feeling you experienced last night," he cleared his throat a little and felt worried that it seemed normal and comfortable talking on the subject with her, "it can be described as a sort of metaphorical death. It is what the French call the petit mort."

"But I did not die," she said quietly, "why do they call it that?"

"Perhaps because you lose yourself in that moment. This line," he read the poem and translated, "he is scared of the death that their love will bring, crime, horror and lunacy."

"You are not scared of that, Peter, surely?" she looked up at him. "If- if you experience this petit mort with me, you think you will be made mad by it?" He shook his head but looked at her with concern, "You- you think I shall be made mad by it?" she did not move away from him, just stayed still against his side.

"No, of course not," he swallowed, "but that it might remind you of some horror."

"We- we've- I've told you," she turned her body and looked up at him, stroked his shoulder gently beneath his jacket. She looked up at his concerned face, "I am yours," she said softly. "Tell me," she said quietly, "Qu'aimez-vous de moi?" she smiled a little.

He paused for a moment still concerned but he answered her. "You are kind and intelligent," he said softly, "you are selfless and modest. You are beautiful."

She took the book from his hands and set in down on the table by his side as she crawled over him and sat on his lap, she leant down and put her hands on his shoulders, "tres beau," she said softly as she admired his handsome face, Peter did not touch her as she leant down to kiss him, he wondered if introducing alcohol to her daily life was a good idea. Her long soft silky hair fell down onto his face and he reached up and held it behind her ears, as she continued to kiss him.

She shivered at feeling his hands against her warm cheeks and her neck, she pressed her hands beneath his jacket and his waistcoat feeling the warmth from his body through his shirt. "Are- are you too tired, tonight?" she asked him quietly against his cheek which she kissed affectionately. "I want to pleasure you," she whispered and he shivered and pushed his hands down her back gently and it made her shiver too.

"Amelia," he said her name quietly and kept his eyes closed, "I- I told myself I wouldn't- couldn't do this with you. It- it will be the same," he said anxiously, "the same as you remember."

"It won't," she said quietly and she put her arms around his neck and lay down on him, kissing his cheek, "it won't."

"Darling, it- it will be," he stressed painfully.

"No it won't!" she said and she sat up and looked down at him, a different, intense look, her brow furrowed, "will you- will you push me down and- and force yourself on me?" she said angrily and he stared up at her in shock and tried to reach for her hands, she pulled them away, "Will you take my hair like this?" she pulled all her hair tightly behind her head and held it in a fist, she jerked her head forwards, pushing it with the tensed hand, "push my face d-down into the bed while, while you- while you-" she did not finish, she let go of her own hair and pushed her hands over her eyes.

"Amelia, don't," he tried to sit up and struggled a little for she still sat on his lap, but he reached for her in concern and she cracked and sobbed against his shoulder.

"God, oh god," she wept, "No- I, I should never have said," she whispered in horror at her outburst, "I, Oh Peter, I'm sorry you- you did not, should not have heard that."

"My poor girl," he said painfully, and he stroked her hair as gently as he could with shaky hands.

"I have upset you," she closed her eyes tightly.

"I cannot make love to you," he whispered, "not when- when these things are so fresh in your mind."

"Peter I want you to," she whimpered a little, "I want you to make them go away."

"It is not the answer," he touched her warm cheek gently with the back of his hand and stroked her face tenderly. "It will not make them go away."

"What can I do?" she asked and she looked tearily into his large brown eyes.

"You- you could tell me about it, Amelia," he tried and she flinched in his arms and looked down, instantly shaking her head.

"I don't want you to know," she said stiffly.

"I think if- if you tell me then you won't think about it so much," he tried, "it will not be your burden, your horrible secret."

"I don't want you to- to have to hear it, Peter. You- you will think of it when you are near me."

"I already think of it, Amelia," he stressed quietly and she looked at him with a pained look on her face and she raised her hands to her mouth.

"No, no," she said through tears, "You think I- I am disgusting," she climbed from his lap and off the bed, she stood by the curtains and looked down at the mirror and saw what he saw. She raised her hand to the streak of white hair and she tried to cover it with her fingers but it was too long for that.

Peter stood and walked to her.

"Amelia, I do not think that at all," he said angrily, "I think you are so brave, so very brave," he stressed, "and I only think about what has happened to you when- when I want to touch you- I am so scared that I will remind you of it, that you will be hurt by me and you won't say. How can you think I think you disgusting?" he said painfully, "I think you are so beautiful and so- so sweet. The fact that you- that you desire me does not make me think you are disgusting, I am amazed," he admitted and raised his eyebrows, "I am flattered and I wish I could do what you want of me but- but while this is all fresh in your mind, in- in our lives, in your nightmares," he stressed softly, "I will not do anything."

"I want to be free of this," she looked up at him still holding her hair, he touched her hand, took it away from her face and he stroked the long white hair gently.

"I do not pretend it will be easy for you- for either of us, that, that this will be an instant cure but-" he said softly, "pretending it never happened is not the answer, it- it will eat away at you, my Darling, but I will listen and I will love you and tell you how brave you are, and I will mean it. Will you confide in me, Amelia?"

She looked up at him nervously and shook her head a little, "I- I don't know," she admitted, "I wish you didn't want to know," she said painfully.

"I think it will help you. I really do," he held her hands, "this way you are not running from it like we have been doing, you are letting it go, out into the room. And when it is out, it will be gone."

"Do you think so?" she asked nervously and she held his hands, he nodded.

"We don't have to talk tonight," he told her, "you don't have to say everything at once. I will just hold you tonight and you can rest, you are tired."

"It was for five weeks," she said quickly, "he took me even when I- when I bled."

"Oh, Amelia," he said painfully and he held her hands still tighter and closed his eyes.

"You did not want to hear that," she started to cry and pulled her hands out of his, she moved past him and sat on the bed, holding her hands to her eyes and not looking at him as he stood and looked down at her.

"No, no Darling," he said gently and he sat down next to her but did not try to touch her, "that is not why I am sad, please, you must know that. I- I will not react if that is what you would prefer." She nodded from under her hands, "I won't say anything." He promised.

"You- will you look away from me too?" she asked quietly and she moved her hands and looked at him as he turned slightly and looked at the floor. Amelia too turned and looked at their closed bedroom door. "I will tell you," she said quietly, "I- I will try to tell you," she whispered painfully and she held her hands tight in her lap and closed her eyes.


	16. Chapter 15: Spring

Chapter Fifteen: Spring

"We knew he was returning," she started, "Mother was so excited, so was I, my- my little brother returned from abroad," she paused for a long time and breathed shakily and shook her head, she whispered; "you understand this, Peter." She had not phrased it as a question and he kept his promise and made no reply. "The day he returned I embraced him and kissed his face so many times, maybe too many. I smiled so much my face hurt, we listened to his stories over lunch and dinner, we listened by the fire. He- he had grown from the skinny little boy I remember, to a- a young man with a- a face like his father's. His manner was not cold, but his stories often delighted in the- the humiliation of others whether they be his friends, people he had met or servants or, or anybody. My mother enjoyed this stories but I did not. He had no stories of the countryside or any ancient buildings I asked him about. He had spent his time in the towns with his friends, almost as if he had not been in a different country at all.

"But it crossed my mind that perhaps there were things in India so different from in England that he could not speak of them in front of our mother who was always a very strict and proper woman," Amelia swallowed, "If she'd have ever found out that my governess had been giving me foreign literature to read she would have stopped me learning anything all together… So I thought Robin might wait until our mother was in bed to tell me of his real adventures." She paused and said quietly, "and in a way I was right." She looked at the door calmly and spoke, "It seems my father was not a pleasant man," she said in a faraway voice, "I do not remember him being at the house much, and if he was he did not have time for me, my mother was devoted to him, but if Robin is anything to go by then her husband was a bad man who took great pleasure in the humiliation of others. He told me this- Robin did," Amelia said quietly.

"Told me how when they had arrived in India our father had made him watch as he," she swallowed and said it, "raped a poor Indian girl. I thought Robin had told me this in secret because he had been scared to tell mother what the love of her life was like! But that was not why he was telling me. He told me how he was glad that he had gone to India and been shown what real power they- the English men, had over their subjects. I- I told him he was disgusting to think that and that I hoped he did not really mean it. But he meant it.

"He did nothing to me that first night, only scared me with his talk his- his new character. The next day I continued to listen to his stories but I did not laugh and I did not smile, everything he said had- had an edge to it, an unpleasantness and I did not want to be near him, I did not want to believe he was my little brother. Again my mother went to bed and he- he sat there and asked me why I was so cold. I told him I thought he was cruel and that I did not want him as a brother." Amelia breathed a little painfully and she raised her hands to her mouth as she stared at the door in front of her. "I- I should not have said this."

Peter moved a little on the bed, she saw his shadow and felt the bed creak, "No- no, do not move, Peter." She said quickly, "do- do not touch me- not when, when I am so close to telling you."

He wanted to apologise but he said nothing and stared at the bedside table, at the two cards he had made for her a month previously, one had a small drawing of her on the front, she looked happy and young, somehow he couldn't see the same girl who was speaking to him now. There was a ribbon on her table too, it had been in her hair earlier in the day, he picked it up quietly and held it wishing he could hold her, wondering if he had made the right choice, if knowing the truth would help her or not. He closed his eyes and she continued.

"'Good,'" Amelia said harshly, "'I am glad I am not your brother,' he said to me and I asked him why he would say such a thing and he told me that he had not felt any brotherly love for me. I- oh, I foolishly was hurt by this," she said and shook her head, "I told him that of course I would always love him, just that I did not agree with most of the things he said. I asked him what reason he had for not loving me. He told me he did love me and he apologised and- and wanted to kiss me, to apologise. Oh, Peter, I let him. I let him kiss me. I thought he wanted to kiss my hand, my cheek, but no, he- he kissed my mouth and when I pushed him away he held onto me. I hit him and told him to stop and he did. He apologised and told me I- told me I was beautiful and that he had forgotten himself, being away from me so long he found it difficult to remember we are brother and sister. I told him to remember it, I- I was horrified that he should do that.

"And I left for bed and- and again he did nothing. Why should he?" she said incredulously, "why should I have been afraid of my own- my own brother? But the- the next morning, Peter," Amelia's voice shook a little, "he woke me, he was in my room, on my bed. He pulled the cover from me and I asked him what the – what the hell he thought he was doing, I- I was so angry. It was something he might have done when we were children but certainly not when we were grown. But my mother had gone out, I- I think it was market day and she wished to fetch the best for her returned son's dinner… He got into my bed with me and though I pushed him away and tried to get out I- I soon realised he was not playing and I- I was scared, he was bigger and stronger than me and Peter, he- he took my nightdress from me. I- I cried. I couldn't do anything, I was upset- mortified, that, that someone I loved could do something so despicable. He spoke so cruelly. He did not care that his sister cried and begged him not to touch her, he laughed at me and he- he seemed surprised that I was a virgin, took great pleasure in robbing me of that.

"The- the evidence of his actions was on my sheets, I- I hurt so terribly, he had ripped from me my- my virtue and that is what it felt like, he seemed to like the blood and the fact that he had caused it. I could not move, I was- my body was in such shock and I knew that if I stayed like that then my mother would come and see and she would know what he had done to me, but he knew that too. He forced me to get up, pulled me out of the bed and- and made me dress for the day. He pulled the sheets from the bed and told me that if I tried to tell mother then he would do much worse to me. I did not know how it could be worse and I told him that I would show her the sheets, that she would believe me. He laughed and told me I was stupid to think she would believe me when she obviously cared much more for him. I knew he was right that- that she loved him more, but I shook my head and told him I would tell her.

"And he was right," she said quietly, "I ran out to meet her and I could not help but cry as soon as I saw her, the relief of seeing her, my mother, whom I had loved and lived with all my life. She hit me. That was her reaction to hearing that my brother had come to my bed and deflowered me. She did love him, far- far more than she loved me. She said the sheets were just my- my menstrual blood and that I was a disgusting liar. Robin was so innocent with her, but he would smile at me and I knew what he knew, that it would happen again and no one would be there to stop him."

Amelia sat on the bed and breathed quietly, she looked down at her shaking hands. "I- I think I need my glass of water," she said quietly and she felt Peter move on the bed, she looked around at him quickly just to be sure it was him and she had not dreamt her safe marriage to the kind old man. He held the glass of water that she kept on her bedside and he handed it to her. She did not look up at his face, just down at the water, which she took and drank a little before giving it back to him and watching him put it back. "I think I- I should tell you everything now," she said quietly.

"If- if you're sure," he heard himself say and he cleared his throat.

"The first week it was like that," Amelia turned and looked at the door again, Peter looked at the back of her head but turned away reluctantly remembering his promise. "When my mother was out of the house. I had barricaded my door, pushed my chest of drawers in front of it each night so he did not come in the night, but he never tried to, I wondered if I," she swallowed, "if I had gone mad and that it had never happened, but then it was the mid morning and I was alone in the parlour and he took me there. Took me by my hair like I- like I showed you," she said quietly, "and pushed my head down into the sofa, he said it was because I had been avoiding his eye, and that I- I had to be shown who was now the man of the house. He held my neck tightly so I would not scream, I- I thought he was going to strangle me. It was something he -he then did often. But after that time, the second time I tried to run away. I packed a bag and I waited until the middle of the night. He was waiting for me of course, outside my room. He said he would find me wherever I went. The next day he had me in the garden while I was walking. I- I only went out there to try and take the air! Again he had his hand over my mouth and- and then around my neck.

"One- there was a time in that first week when I- when I did manage to scream, to cry out for help and he- he hit me hard. Not- not as I had hit him, not a slap, but- but he hit me with a jewellery box, I have a small scar from it," she said quietly, "above my eyebrow. I was so scared, but I- I did not know what to do. Again I told my mother, waited until I was alone with her and I told her that I had not fallen and that Robin had hit me with the box, that he had done nothing but hurt me since he had arrived. She did not hit me, but she cried and asked me why I was such a liar, why I was so jealous of my brother. I begged her then to send me away, to let me leave and become a teacher or a governess. She- she would not listen and forever she left me alone with him, ignoring my looks, my pleading looks to her, my begging that she stay. When he knew he had that power over me, when he knew that though I had tried to speak to our mother about what had happened she turned a blind eye, it was when he did not wait for us to be alone in the house.

"I could not run, Peter. He- he had all the doors locked and the windows, I was never alone, never able to walk alone as I had always done. If I had been able to I would have run, run so far and never gone back. He offered to accompany me everywhere and my mother- she, she let him, insisted he did. And he came to my bed at night and raped me, he- it was then that he- he had his knife with him, held it to my throat. He cut my body to- to show me he would not flinch at cutting my throat if I made a sound- my arms," she said quietly, "a place that would always be covered and so no one would know, I- I shall show you l-later. I did not want to die, despite all this, I- I did not want to die after this had been my only life, I- I only hoped he would soon grow tired of me and- and I could run away and teach. Teaching was what I wanted to do, to- to help people in the only ways I knew.

"Robin did not even falter when I- when I did bleed from my menstrual cycle," she said quietly, "I- I had never suffered from, from pains during those times before, not- not bad ones as some women do, but- but after what he had done to me I- I was constantly hurting, and then- then to have him continue, it- it was horrible. I woke up and my hair had turned white," she said quietly and she touched it nervously, "from- from shock I expect. Not just one hair, but- but all of them, this whole side of my hair, white. Mother asked me what I had done to it, why I had done it. I told her the truth, that Robin had done it to me, constantly threatened my life and raped me sometimes three times a day since he had returned. It had only been three weeks, I thought it would be the evidence she needed, but it only seemed to put her into more denial.

"There- there are some things now- some, some things I wish you did not have to know Peter, but- but if you really believe this to be cathartic I will say them. I just- I just I never want to think of any of it, but it is this pain that comes to me in my nightmares.

"He began to try other- different things while he forced himself on me, my, my hopes that he would become bored, tired of me were answered, but he did not stop. He- he just did other things to me. He- he abused my- my face, in the same way he had-" Amelia wretched a little and covered her eyes with her palm, "put it in my mouth," she said in a hoarse whisper, "With his knife against my- my face, I- he said if I bit him he would take out my eyes. And then- then what was worse, my- I cannot say," she said painfully, "only- only that it hurt, hurt so badly, and it was then that he- he had to hold me down so tightly that his hands left- left marks all over my body. These were the marks I showed my mother, I showed her everything and though she did not want to hear about anything, would not listen, she- I think she believed me then.

"For I had not been out of the house except for with my brother, there was no way I could have made those marks myself, his- his hand prints in bruises all over me. She knew- she knew he had done this to me. And she sent him out of the house, out of town to collect something for her. When he had gone we- we took things and we left. I- I did not understand why she did not simply tell him to leave or demand answers of him, but I was so scared I- I presumed she must be too. That she was too scared in case he hurt her as well.

"We spent two weeks travelling before we came to Cranford. Mother did not want to talk about it, she did not want to discuss anything, she- she did it for me, remembered that I had loved her and looked after her. I told her every day how I loved her and would still look after her, do everything for her if only we could live somewhere different. I- I still wanted to leave," she admitted quietly, "to become a governess, but- but mother had delusions of grandeur living off Robin's dirty money.

"She was different after that, cold and lonely, she did not want my company. I knew she saw me as the person who had come between her and her son, she wanted to be alone in the house, and- and I pushed everything to the back of my mind and- and tried to become friends with your sister. A- a safe old lady. But I- I was still scared that he'd find us and that he'd kill me for exposing him. It turned out my mother chose not to believe me anyway, I- it was only a month before she broke her promise to me and started to write to him.

"He- he only that once tried to kiss me," Amelia said quietly, "that was not what he wanted, when he did hurt me and rape me he would laugh at me and tell me how disgusting I was," she swallowed again, "I- I don't know why this gave him pleasure but- but it is not the same as- as how I feel. He- he told me how cold and white my body was, like- like being with a corpse. Peter," she said his name and there was a pause so she said it again, "Peter," she said it shakily and she turned and looked at him, "Oh," she said painfully and she crawled on the bed to his side and looked at him as he sat with his face in his hands, crying for her.

"Peter, please, don't," she whispered painfully and she shakily touched his hands, he brought them away from his face and he shook his head sadly and breathed out a small sound, he kept his eyes closed and it hurt Amelia deeply to see tears falling from beneath his long eyelashes. "Oh, please don't," she begged again and she began to cry too. "I- I don't want you to cry," she whimpered.

"I- I can't help it, my, my angel," he said painfully. "All those times- so many times you visited us and I- I spoke so casually about, about everything," he stressed, "everything!"

"It- it was what I needed, please, Peter, it was normality!"

"But I- I said to you- Oh, I said so many stupid things about you being too young to- to understand pain or- or sorrow, and you- you have led such a horrible, horrible life."

"It- it was five weeks, five weeks out of twenty five years, it, it is nothing," she tried to say. "You think I remember any casual remark you made to me, Peter? No, I- I remember all the, all the nice things you have said to me, all the hundreds of times we have shared laughter and- and stories. I was never acting when I was that girl."

"I'm so sorry, Amelia, I'm so very sorry."

"I- I am recovered," she said quietly, "I- I only needed your friendship to be recovered, you- Peter, when you painted my portrait I- I was cured."

"Darling," he said painfully, "Darling, will you let me hold you?"

"I- of course," she whispered, "of course, Peter, it is what I- what I live for!"

"Oh, Amelia," he turned more and she put her arms around him, knelt on the bed and held his head gently to her chest, she stroked his soft hair as he cried still quietly and stroked her back. She leant and put her face gently onto the top of his head and she kissed it gently. "I- I will protect you, I will," he told her.

"I know," she whispered and tears fell from her face into his hair, "I know you will."

"If- if he comes near you I will kill him, I will kill him."

Amelia's body shook a little and she sobbed and closed her eyes, she held onto his jacket tightly and nodded against him, she slipped down his body a little and allowed herself to be held by him instead of her holding onto him protectively.

"I'm sorry," he said again and he touched her face gently, "I'm sorry," he whispered and he pressed his face to her forehead tightly.


	17. Chapter 16: Christmas

Chapter Sixteen: Christmas

Miss Matty Jenkyns sat in her home and looked over her brother's letters, he had written to her again twice since he had disappeared with his young bride. His last letter had contained a Christmas card, not made by him as she was used to, but by his wife, it was one of Amelia's watercolours; a festive spring of holly. She had written the card, it did not reveal anything but her sentiment was as sweet as it had always been. Matty did not want to believe what her fiancé had told her over the past few weeks, she had believed rumours about Amelia in the past and she did not think she could handle any more even if these rumours were directly from the girl's own brother. What could he know about her? Only what his mother had told him and it was the mother who had spread the original lie.

Matty still did not know where her brother was, there was nothing in the letters, no clues, no slips. He only wrote to her in reassurance, told her they were both well and of their plans for Christmas, it pleased Miss Matty to learn that her sceptical brother now attended church with his wife each Sunday, it was a comfort to her that they must have been among other people another community to attend church and to buy fresh food at a local market twice a week. She had been worried that they had run away entirely, decided to live isolated in the middle of nowhere. It was a good omen to her that they were clearly not running from life, just from Cranford.

But it still made her worry. She thought often about what the redheaded stable boy- as he now was, demoted by his employer to only tend to the horses, not drive his carriage- had said to them, that Amelia's brother was not a good man. Robin Walker had not intruded on Matty's life, he had not demanded anything of her, he had left her alone, Mr Buxton kept him up to date with Matty's letters, relating to the boy what Miss Matty told her fiancé each day a new letter arrived.

Yes, the boy spent his days mostly in the company of his mother, they had begun to accept invitations, Mrs Brown, Miss Pole and Mrs Jamieson among others had all had the two to tea and had spoken sympathetically to the family about the elopement. Mrs Brown had called on Miss Matty a few days after and unlike the others she had told her friend that she found the boy rather detached and cold about his sister's behaviour. Miss Pole on the other hand went spreading her rumours and gossiping to anyone who would listen about how heartbroken young Mr Walker was and how wicked his sister had been.

But when young Mr Walker was not with his mother he was at Cranford Old Hall, Miss Matty did not like to visit anymore, she felt guilty and nervous when the boy was near her and though Mr Buxton tried to convince her that he was a proper and forgiving man and he did not hold her responsible at all Matty's timid nature would still not allow her to visit him and she preferred instead to have her fiancé visit her each evening for supper in her home and update her on everything she had missed.

It was Christmas Eve and Matty walked with her fiancé and his ward Erminia through the cold streets of Cranford up to the little church on the hill. Erminia talked quietly to Miss Matty, excitably of Christmas but Matty felt strange knowing that her brother should have been with her, months ago she might have guessed that she and Peter would accompany Miss Amelia Walker to the Christmas Eve service, she had told them once how fond she was of Christmas despite not attending church, Matty thought about her brother and his wife making the same walk to their local church wherever they were and she felt saddened by it rather than comforted.

Mr Buxton's ward had visited Matty frequently since she had come to live alone so suddenly, Mr Buxton was spending time with Mr Walker and so it was only natural that the girl was sent out of the house for them to talk about such serious matters uninterrupted. But Erminia had proved herself a good friend to Miss Matty, she had reassured her when everyone seemed to be against her. It seemed Erminia too believed that Amelia was of good character and that whatever her guardian had been told it had to be rot. She did not pretend to know Amelia well or even know Miss Matty's brother, but she confessed that when Peter had come to Mr Buxton for help and spoken so passionately about his need to marry Amelia she had known then that it was very true romantic love and that they couldn't possibly be in hiding because of a scandal. Matty had even told Erminia her theory and the girl had listened wide-eyed and shaken her head in disbelief, "you are so clever, Miss Matty," she had said, "that is such a horrible theory and it must be right for it is true that men look like their fathers, but they are not their fathers." She agreed that it must have been Amelia's fear of her father that drove her away from her family and even more obvious that it would drive her into the arms of an older man.

And so they spent many days talking about Amelia, but they did not talk about the scandal or the embarrassment, they spoke nicely of their lost friend and Erminia did her very best to imagine nice friendly scenarios when Matty allowed her to read her brother's letters; she spoke about what they must have been doing and how he must have been planning something for her Christmas, and she tried her best to make the old woman smile and not worry. Peter was a capable man and he would have it under control wherever they were.

And now it was Christmas Eve and they went to church together, they listened to the service and they sang the carols and hymns sharing prayer books as they prayed together, each prayer was the same from Miss Matty, every week she asked to keep him safe and bring him back. Erminia seemed suddenly silent and coy in her bonnet as they left the church and Miss Matty couldn't help but notice the girl glancing at Robin Walker who stood with his mother in the back pews as they left the church.

Of course it was bound to happen. Matty thought worriedly as they spoke to the Reverend politely and Matty thanked him politely when he told her he was praying for her brother's safe return with his bride. They wished quiet Merry Christmases to their friends but they did not stop to talk long for it was cold and Miss Matty did not feel as welcome and close as she once did with her small group of friends. Erminia held her arm gently and they walked together back through the town as Mr Buxton still spoke to people in the congregation politely, some of his tenants were among them and he was a polite man, he did his duty and spoke to each one warmly. "You shall come to us for Christmas tomorrow, Miss Matty, won't you?" Erminia asked sweetly, her voice was kind and gentle.

"Yes, dear, of course I will."

"I am so glad, I cannot bear to think of you on your own in that cold house on Christmas Day. We shall arrive in the morning and again walk to church but then afterwards you shall come home with us for dinner and festivities."

"I don't know about festivities," Matty admitted quietly.

"They will be doing the same as us, so we must rejoice in that fact," Erminia insisted.

"Yes," Matty said quietly, "I- I am glad Peter is going to church again. He- he has not been since he was a boy!"

"What a terrible man!" Erminia joked and giggled a little but Matty did not laugh. "There are churches in India," she said quietly, "I asked Mister Walker yesterday when he came to the house. He said he was glad too that his sister was going to church again."

"How did you come to ask him about India?" Matty said quietly and she had a strange sensation in her stomach, it wasn't a pleasant feeling, she knew that this was the beginning of an attachment.

"Only that he said he had never missed church and I said that it was impossible, as he had been in a foreign country for half his life and onboard ships too." She grinned as they walked slowly through the town, "It seems there are sorts of churches on boats and India has a very high Christian population. I assumed everyone worshipped elephants, or one of those other strange gods I've seen pictures of. I was very interested to hear I was wrong."

"Do you know what Mister Walker and his mother are doing tomorrow?" Matty asked.

"They are having a very quiet Christmas together, he is very devoted to his mother."

Matty wondered whether Erminia knew it yet, that she was fond of the tall young man who in some small way resembled his sister. It would account for her animation, this sudden interest but Matty worried still about the stable boy's warning.

* * *

Amelia sat in front of the fire and waited for her husband. They had been to church together for the Christmas Eve service as she had wished those weeks ago when they had first moved into their small house and now they planned to sit in front of the fire and wait until the house warmed up a little before going to bed. He had gone upstairs to fetch a book so that he could read to her as he did most nights. Sometimes Amelia read to him when he was tired and she enjoyed doing this so much that she had asked to read to him on Christmas Eve after their church outing if only he would pick something festive for her to read.

After Amelia had told Peter of the events that led to her moving to Cranford and her hair changing colour their marriage had changed. It had been less than two days old before she told him everything but even so it was not as she had planned it. The morning after her confession she had woken to find him dressed and stoking the fire, he had brought her hot water to wash with and he seemed different with her, still affectionate, still attentive, but quieter, more careful around her, as though she was more fragile suddenly. He was like that for two days before she stopped him, crying out in a fury "I am not made of glass!" She pointed out to him that she was still exactly the same person he had always known, that nothing had happened to her in between their friendship and their marriage to change her and so he did not have to change either. He stopped doing her chores and the things that she confessed made her happy doing for him and he tried to go back to how he had been before, friend to her. He tried to be the best friend he had been when they were most comfortable in Cranford, their days revolved around long walks and discussions about the books they read to each other in the evenings, she cooked for him and left him to write his letters and sit and rest in front of the warm fire. She decorated the house with holly and ivy and though the question of their making love was not raised they still kissed each other affectionately and Amelia made sure there was plenty of mistletoe in their house.

She had not begged, had not asked again when they would consummate their marriage and though she still felt she wanted it it did not seem quite as important anymore, almost as though what he had said was right. That it would not have made her memories disappear, but talking about it had helped; she was no longer desperate to replace the bad memories, they seemed to be fading somehow. There had been three more nights when he had given into her though, he had kissed her body gently and relieved the aches of yearning she had for him. When she had explained to him after the two days he spent mollycoddling her, explained so adamantly why she needed a normal relationship one where he didn't treat her differently because of what had been done to her she had been extremely grateful for his understanding and even more grateful for his kisses. At night she told him she loved him and she had been rewarded for her feelings.

It was Christmas Eve and Amelia did wonder if she would be allowed to make love to him the following day, it seemed too soon to talk about it. They had not talked about it yet, when he had told her that he would still kiss her she did not push the idea that she would like to do the same for him, she knew he was uncomfortable with the idea of gaining pleasure from her body. She wished he wasn't though.

"A book," he told her and he came down the stairs and handed it to her.

"But what is that?" she asked with quiet interest as she saw him take a second, much larger object from under his arm and place it on the side table.

"That is none of your business," she smiled and he sat down in front of the fire, "Father Christmas gave it to me for someone."

"Peter!" she said in quiet amazement and she grinned, "you have a present for me?"

"But of course," he smiled and she stood up and leant over him to try and see. "Not until tomorrow!" he told her and he raised his hand and tried to cover her eyes, she laughed and pushed his hands away.

"But, Peter, I hope it isn't anything special," she said quietly and she sat down on his lap and leant back against his chest, she looked at his smiling face out of the corner of her eye as she turned her head a little. "I have not got you anything special."

"Are you not making me a splendid feast, tomorrow?" he asked in quiet surprise.

"Yes."

"Well that is all I could hope for," he told her and he put his arms around her waist gently. "Are you to read to me?"

Amelia smiled and opened the book. She smiled and laughed and looked up at him, "Peter! This is a Christmas poem!"

"It is American," he told her and she raised her eyebrows impressed and she read the sweet thing slowly and softly.

She closed the book and smiled.

"That was very jolly," she told him softly, "I should think if we were children we would love that."

"I did love it," he said and looked at her quizzically, "Didn't you?"

"Yes, of course I did," she smiled warm in her husband's arms and warm in the fire's glow. "Did you have lovely Christmases as a child?" she rested her forehead gently against the side of his face and held his hands on her waist.

"I was the little boy ruining his older sisters' day with his silly toys, of course I did," he smiled and she felt his laugh go through her body, "Matty and Debbie with their ribbons and dresses, especially Matty," he added quietly and Amelia smiled and closed her eyes, "that was what Christmas was to girls, getting dressed up and blushing while fiddling with the mistletoe."

"I haven't blushed while fiddling with our mistletoe," Amelia said quietly.

"Yes you have," he grinned and she blushed as he squeezed her. "I do remember them very fondly, I would sit like you are now on Miss Matty's lap at the end of the day, tired out by all the running around I'd done, that was what she liked most at Christmas, holding onto me. She's so fond of children," he smiled and laughed a little, "what a pity she never had any of her own."

"How much older than you is Miss Matty?" Amelia asked quietly.

"Eleven, eleven years," he said thoughtfully, "and Deborah, twelve, they- they we so close," he smiled, "my big sisters."

"That is nice," Amelia said softly, "I'm sorry Miss Matty does not have her- and, and you of course, I'm sorry for you too Peter, but they- they must have been best friends. She- she will be with Mr Buxton and Erminia tomorrow, don't you think, for Christmas?"

"I think that is definite, Amelia," he smiled, "don't worry about Miss Matty."

"How old were you when you painted that portrait- that self portrait on your mantelpiece at home?" Amelia asked quietly, "was it just before you left them?"

"Yes, I- I think it must have been then, I," he laughed a little and squeezed her again, "I think I was your age, Amelia."

"You were very pretty at my age," she told him quietly.

"And you are very pretty now," he smiled and she grinned and looked at him.

"You are pretty too, Peter," she said through her smile, "much less feminine now," she added and she giggled and he wrestled playfully with her as she laughed. She turned in his arms and put her arms around his neck, she smiled still as she looked down at him, "pretty eyes," she told him and his warm eyes glowed in the firelight, he blinked and smiled up at her, "they have not changed."

"How do you know?" he said quietly and he grinned at her.

"Because they sparkle like a little boy's on Christmas Eve," she whispered with a smile. She leant and kissed his lips softly, he held her gently and kissed back.

"And what did you love about Christmas when you were small?" he asked her, "smaller than you are now, I mean," he specified.

"Oranges," she grinned and he laughed and tickled her a little so she giggled and squirmed in his arms again. "You know what I liked," she said quietly and she leant down on his shoulder, "I liked hearing the happy stories in church instead of the horrible ones."

"I will read to you, a happy poem," he reached for the book on her lap again and opened it at the same short Christmas poem. He read it to her and she closed her eyes and listened contentedly.

* * *

"Merry Christmas," Amelia climbed onto their bed and kissed her husband's cheek, he looked up at her from his warm sleep and smiled, he was glad she was not dressed yet though she wore her robe and sat on the covers above the bed.

"You mad thing," he said quietly, "you've put the fires on all ready haven't you?"

"It is later than you think, Peter, ten past nine, we must be in church for eleven." He groaned a little.

"We went last night," he said quietly and she grinned.

"God is going to punish you," she smiled and he laughed and pushed his face into the pillow.

"Do we have to keep going after Christmas?" he asked her.

"No of course not!" she smiled and he looked up at her in surprise, he had expected her to say yes, he thought she had wanted to mingle and be normal in their new home. "I told you," she looked down at him too with surprise, "I only like the Christmas services."

"Oh thank you, thank you, my Darling," he sat up and reached for her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her cheek gratefully. "I couldn't stand much more of it."

"Neither could I, Peter," she reassured him and she laughed as he let go of her and took the cup of tea she had brought up for him and set on the side, it warmed him and he breathed in happy relief. "Do you think I like hearing about how I am going to hell?"

"Not to worry, I'll be there with you," he said quietly as she continued.

"Now that we have discovered that Christmas poem I think I shan't need church at all. The idea of a jolly old man with a beard delivering presents to children is much more uplifting than anything last night's service had to offer."

"And on that note may I wish you a very Merry Christmas," he said solemnly and she grinned and got under the covers with him. Peter put his tea down and rubbed her arms through her robe as she pressed herself against him for warmth, "You silly thing, you'll freeze if you keep getting up so early." She pressed her cold nose against his chest and he shivered and wrapped his arms around her, "Did Father Christmas bring you anything nice?" he asked her quietly and she smiled, he felt it against him and he laughed a little but stopped and decided to keep a straight face as she looked up at him.

"I don't know," she whispered, "maybe I saw a small group of somethings in the parlour," she admitted, "but I am a good girl, I will wait until tonight. Are you a good little boy?" she asked him.

"I try," he said flippantly.

"I'm not sure that's good enough," she sat up and smiled at him, "there might have been something for you downstairs too," she watched him smile at her, "but if you admit so casually to trying to be good," she mocked him, "I wouldn't be surprised it if was just a lump of coal."

"Well good, we can burn it on the fire along with all the presents I got for you, including your orange," he added.

"No!" she squealed and he smiled and laughed at her as she hit him. She put her arms around him, put her hands up in his hair appreciatively and kissed him, she kissed him deeply and he kissed back, putting his hands on her back and holding her up against him, "Oh, Peter, I'm so happy," she said softly as she rested her chin on his shoulder and held onto him, "You make me so happy," she specified and she kissed his cheek gently.

"Merry Christmas, Darling girl," he told her gently and he kissed her cheek in return.

Amelia wore her green dress and both she and her husband wore holly in their button holes, which was her idea and one he was very taken with, they went to church and Peter sat proud in an almost religious glow, happy he would not have to go again. His young wife held his hand tightly through the service, they exchanged glances but managed to keep straight faces throughout. They saw their landlord and his wife at the church and they exchanged Christmas pleasantries, the little old woman had a large basket with her and had taken out a small parcel and given it to Amelia, they had other tenants to visit and both Peter and Amelia were quite relieved that they had saved them the journey.

"You're happy here, aren't you?" Peter said to his smiling wife as they walked briskly arm in arm back to their house, she grinned a little more and her teeth peeked through her lips, she looked up at him and beamed.

"I am happy with you," she stressed, "wherever we are."

Peter was left alone when they got back to the house, left in front of the fire which he was not to let burn out while she went into the kitchen and prepared their secret Christmas dinner. He had offered to help and as usual had been declined but she had told him today that he wasn't even allowed to be in the kitchen with her, as sometimes if she was cooking something that took a long time he would sit and read the newspaper to her.

After an hour reading peacefully in front of the Christmas fire Peter looked up to see her in the doorway with two mugs in her hands. "What would you say was the correct vessel for mulled wine?" she asked him handing him the thick mug.

"I thought I could smell something festive," he said and looked up at her in thanks as he took the cup and held it warm in his hands. She sat down on the chair next to him with her own mug, she looked red in the face, her hair had come lose a little, she looked charmingly pretty, he had thought it often since they had started to live together but never said it; she really suited being a wife. She looked after him so well and she seemed to get so much pleasure from it, physically she glowed from her new life. "I think this is the perfect presentation," he told her and he raised his mug to her.

"I used my Christmas orange," she admitted to him as he drank a little.

"Oh," he put his mug down in his lap and titled his head, "that was yours!" he told her, "from Father Christmas," he insisted.

"Peter!" she grinned.

"It's the truth!" he put up his hand in honest protestation and she shook her head and smiled down at her mug as she blew on it gently to cool the hot liquid. "How are you getting on in there? Need any help?" he offered quietly.

"Thank you," she looked up at him, "but no thank you," she smiled, "it is all under control, I want you to sit here and just bask in the fact that you'll never have to step foot inside a church again." He laughed a small laugh and smiled, "well," she raised her eyebrows, "apart from your sister's wedding of course."

"Oh yes, of course," he agreed, "but I think I'll be able to manage that."

"You- you don't think they'd get married without- I mean," she blushed, "in this time we're away?" she looked at him.

"No, I shouldn't think so," Peter shook his head and frowned a little but the thought had never occurred to him. "Who is to give Matty away if I'm not there?" he joked.

"I am sure you are right," Amelia said quietly, "And, and I'm sure Miss Matty would not want a winter wedding," she said down to her mug before she sipped the wine thoughtfully, "she would much prefer one with flowers, in the spring," she looked at him, "when you are there to give her away."

"Yes," Peter agreed and nodded too.

* * *

"Merry Christmas!" Erminia came into the entrance hall where Miss Matty stood with her guardian removing her boots, the girl had not come from inside the house, but from outside and she too wore her winter boots and a thick fur-lined cloak.

"Merry Christmas, my dear," Matty managed to say as she avoided getting sprayed by flecks of wet snow from the girl's cloak as she pulled it off. They had seen each other in church earlier in the day but Erminia had gone with one of the maids from the house afterwards and distributed gifts with the girl to Mr Buxton's tenants, she had not accompanied Miss Matty home to collect herself and then travelled back to her home with her guardian and his lady friend, she had made her own busy way home and now she joined them both.

"I have just given the servants their Christmas presents," she glowed and grinned at Miss Matty, her face was pink from the cold and she kicked her boots off, "they do know how to celebrate in the stables," she grinned still and informed her friend. "They were already dancing out there."

"That's one way to keep warm," Miss Matty offered to the conversation.

"Oh they do not live out there, Miss Matty!" she laughed, "they will have dinner and festivities in the kitchen much later, don't you worry! It was only merry in the stables because Harry is feeding the horses at this hour. He always does."

The two ladies walked through the hall and into the parlour where Mr Buxton had gone to wait for them, he had excused himself while they changed their footwear and told them he needed to attend to something anyway. When they entered the room he stood by the large impressive Christmas tree and was lighting the candles on it.

"Oh my," Miss Matty said in awe, "it is beautiful in here!"

"It has been like this for weeks," Mr Buxton said dryly, "Miss Erminia likes it like this, she has been sneakily adding to the decorations every day."

"If you came more often, like you used to," Erminia held her friend's arm, "then you would have seen it."

"Then it would not have been such a marvellous Christmas surprise," Miss Matty said quietly.

"You will come and visit more often, won't you, Miss Matty?" Erminia looked down at her with large eyes, "there are too many men in this house. Uncle and Mr Walker, though both are excellent company, do not hold a candle to you!"

"Thank you my dear, I- I will come, of course I have missed it, but you understand I- it is nothing to do with the two of you, a lot has changed for me recently."

"We will not speak of it," Mr Buxton said in what sounded like a comforting tone and he walked to his fiancée and touched her arm reassuringly, she smiled up at him but did not feel reassured or comforted.

"I hope his is a merry Christmas," she heard herself say. She could not be silent, she could not not speak of it, she worried for her brother, his first Christmas in England without his family, her first without her family, she missed him.

"Your brother is fine," Erminia told her, "does he not tell you he is in his letters?" she smiled and asked rhetorically but Matty nodded all the same.

"Yes, but he should be here," Matty breathed a little shakily and dared herself to say it, "they should both be here."

"She should be with her brother, it is his first in England for ten years, her poor mother. Do you know they have had to employ a maid- Mr Walker has to pay for a maid because Mrs Walker was so dependant on the girl that she cannot manage without her. Imagine leaving a dependant mother." Mr Buxton moved to the table and poured three glasses of wine for himself and his makeshift family. He handed the glasses to the women and went back for his own.

"At least," Erminia said in a different tone and looked up at her father figure dangerously as she comfortingly touched Miss Matty's arm, "at least you know he is being looked after."

Miss Matty swallowed painfully and looked down at the wine, she had not meant that they should both be back in Cranford with their respective families, she had meant that both Peter and Amelia should have been with her. They should have spent Christmas together as they had spent so many afternoons as friends, happy and laughing. Miss Matty did not have much sympathy for Mrs Walker even if she did feel guilty and shameful each time she passed Mr Walker in the street, the brother seemed to care a great deal for Amelia but the mother never had. Being dependant on her young daughter did not make her a martyr, she was able bodied and not too old, she should not have been so dependant. She did not like it when Mr Buxton spoke defensively of Mrs Walker, Miss Matty knew that something was wrong with that woman, she had spread rumours about her own daughter when she was still living with her and caring for her, what had she said now the girl had gone? She did not want to know.


	18. Chapter 17: Presents

Chapter Seventeen: Presents

Peter and Amelia sat in the parlour in front of the fire, the mugs that had contained mulled wine hours earlier stood empty on the table in front of them, they had been sitting talking for half an hour, first of the meal that they had both enjoyed and afterwards Amelia had listened fondly to her husband's stories of faraway places. Amelia had cooked a pheasant with all sorts of trimmings for his Christmas dinner, in the kitchen they had had more wine and they had laughed and teased each other verbally while they had sat next to each other and after the great feast they had eaten the small plum cake that their landlord's wife had given to them that morning. After the two courses they had gone into the parlour, Amelia still giggly and her husband still laughing and teasing her playfully. They sat in their separate armchairs in front of the stoked fire and Amelia had listened to his stories of Christmases in India. Now though they sat quietly and peacefully and Peter cleared his throat.

"Well," he raised his eyebrow and looked at her, Amelia smiled a small grin and looked back at him. "Don't you want to see what Father Christmas has left you?" he asked.

"You've been waiting for this all day, haven't you?" she said quietly and she smiled at him and shook her head, "you are a little boy at Christmas."

He laughed a little but did not reply, he leant up in the chair and reached for the package he had left on the small table in front of them the night before, he pushed it towards her. Amelia smiled at him and reached for the large rectangular parcel and took it with both hands as it was heavy. She put it on her lap and unfastened the red ribbon he had tied around the plain brown paper, "what is this?" she said curiously to herself as she peeled back the paper to reveal a large pile of paper journals, all of them in French.

"Now," he said quietly as she scanned the front cover of the top journal, it was from the summer of the previous year, "don't get too excited because they're not actually all there, you're missing I think the last two chapters, December's and January's. But, I have them ordered."

"Peter!" she said his name excitedly as she flipped through the pages, "it is a new novel by Alexandre Dumas!" she looked at the title pages and read excitedly, "Oh thank you, thank you," she heaved the pile of journals back to the table and stood up and leant and kissed his cheek several times. She sat down on his lap and looked down at his face as she put her arms around him, she smiled warmly and sighed, "thank you," she said seriously, "it is the most wonderful present," she leant and kissed his lips gently.

Peter held her gently in his arms and returned her grateful kiss. When he had travelled to Manchester just over a month previously on his own he had found the bookshop he had read about and bought a great deal of books in all languages for himself. He had thought of his friend Amelia while he was browsing because she had been ill and he had not seen her for a long time, he had wanted to get her a present, a small something to cheer her up. But he had not found anything small, he had only found something rather large; sixteen volumes of the Journal de Deabats, containing almost all of the new story by a writer he knew she had enjoyed a great deal. He had bought it impulsively and with great excitement but then realised while taking it back home to Cranford that he could not possibly give her such a huge present, he would have to keep it and lend it to her one volume at a time after he too had read it. And so he had returned without a present for his young friend and that had made him feel so rotten that in the week before he ended up eloping with her he had not unwrapped the journals or looked at them because he did not feel right reading them first when he had meant them for her. It was the second thing he had packed after his mother's gold and emerald ring, both were things that he had wanted to give to her before he had realised his feelings were romantic.

"You- you must open mine now," she told him quietly and she turned and reached for the small parcel she had wrapped in blue tissue paper. She handed it to him and stayed sat on his lap.

He unwrapped his present and took out the small frame, "it is not very good," she said quickly and self deprecatingly while he looked down at the little picture she had painted.

"When have you had time for this?" he asked her amazedly and he smiled, "it is lovely, Amelia," he told her and she blushed.

"I- I get up earlier than you," she told him.

"But I did not see you drawing me," he smiled still down at her craftsmanship, the delicate and romantic portrait of the two of them.

"I- I know your face by memory- by heart," she said quietly and he looked up at her and raised his eyebrows as she smiled, "You- you did the same for me once," she reminded him.

"You lovely thing, thank you," he said softly and he leant into her kiss, she kissed him not as she had kissed in thanks for her gift but slowly and with more intensity, she put her hands up against his face and touched his hair gently, when she broke away from his mouth to breathe deeply she pressed her nose against his and shivered in his arms.

"Merry Christmas," she managed to say and she kissed his cheek, rubbed her cold nose against his skin delicately while she breathed against him.

Peter looked at her close to him, breathing so differently, she did not usually allow herself to feel this way until they were in their bedroom, it had been almost a week since he had last done anything for her. He knew how sexually charged she was as a person, how much she longed for him, but even on Christmas Day he did not want to give her that gift, not when they had had such a perfect day, he did not want to risk ruining it by sparking some terrible memory in her.

They had been to church for the last time, they had had a wonderful dinner and now they had exchanged gifts, it was only six in the evening, he had hoped that she would be eager to read the story and they would pass a few more hours downstairs before going to bed where he had suspected she might feel amorous. She had cut out two hours of his plan for the day.

"Peter," she said his name quietly and did not look at his face as he looked at hers, she looked only at her hands on his chest, "I- I wonder," she said ever so quietly, "I wonder as it is Christmas, you might let me give you another present, I would like to- to give myself to you, entirely," she clarified and she looked at him. "Please say yes," she whispered as she watched his sceptical face.

He shook his head, "I- I'm sorry," he said softly and he stroked her back gently as she nodded acceptingly. "I still think- I do not want to risk the chance of ruining this day, Amelia, you- you have already made it special for me, and of course I will do, I will do something for you, but you do not need to do that for me."

"Peter, it- it is wonderful what you do for me," she whispered in assurance, "but, but I would like you to feel it too, don't you see it would make me happy, it would make me so happy."

"I know," he told her, "I know, my darling, I just can't. Not yet."

She smiled sadly at him and leant and kissed his forehead, "I- I wish there was a way I could kiss you while you bring that feeling out in me," she whispered as she stroked his hair gently with her fingers, "it is- it is the most intimate thing I know," she smiled and blushed a little as she thought about their last intense night together, "but it might be nice to have your face close to mine so you can see what you do to me. That- that will happen when, when you are ready," she said softly, finitely, as though she was reassuring them both.

"I- I can do other things for you," he said quietly and he felt his heart beat hard in his chest as he heard his own words. "I only- I only choose that way because, because it is the most gentle, would you like me to try something else tonight?"

She shivered and nodded and kissed his cheek, "Can you do it now?" she whispered, "Please."

"You- you do not wish me to read you some of your story?" he tried nervously and joked, squeezing her arm gently, "it is still early, Amelia."

"I am tired," she kissed his cheek again, "I- I have been on my feet for a long time today, I- I wish," she whispered softly as she pressed and rubbed her nose against his skin, "I wish to be in bed with you."

* * *

Amelia looked at her husband, he was sitting on their bed, she had changed her mind, told him not to take off his clothes, not to get ready for bed, because he would need to go downstairs again later and see that the fires were out and because she wanted to lie on the covers with him not under them where they could not see each other.

The room was full of candles, on the chest by the foot of the bed was his present to her, the stack of French journals, beside them were her clothes where she had folded them after she had taken them off. In the light he had seen the scars on the undersides of her arms as she brought the long vest up off her body and the small scars on her sides as she bent and pushed the petticoats to the floor, it was these small reminders that told him why he was not making love to his wife on Christmas Day. So much pain for another's vicious pleasure, he would not take pleasure from her, he would try to give that Christmas.

"Sometimes you look so serious I am worried I do not know what you are thinking," Amelia spoke, she had undressed in silence and now she looked at him. He stood and walked to her, she looked up at him and moved to his arms, she flinched a little and moved away from him, he looked down still seriously but with great concern, she smiled and her teeth peeked through her lips, "your holly," she pointed to his festive button hole and he smiled apologetically and took his jacket off and put it down with her clothes.

"When I look serious it is because I am serious," he told her quietly as she moved into his arms and he touched her skin gently.

"Yes, that- that is not a look I am too familiar with," she admitted shakily and he smiled a little and nodded in agreement, "only, only on the days we, the days we ran away did I first see that look. Why is it back now?"

"Because on those days I wanted nothing more than to rid you of your worries and your fear, and now- when I am with you and you feel like this, it- it is the same. I just want to please you."

"You do please me," she assured him and her hands which had been on his waist moved up his back and dug into him a little, squeezed him reassuringly.

"I want you to have what you want," he said seriously, "but I look like this because I know I am not going to give you that."

'Yes you are," she said quietly, "all I want is to be closer to you, that will happen tonight. Even- even if it is just a fraction closer, it will be what I want, you- you have never disappointed me, Peter."

"And you will never disappoint me," he stressed clearly, "everything you do, everything you say astounds me, Amelia, your talent, your warmth," he smiled, "your bravery. Everything." He assured her and she shivered in his arms and moved her hands from his back, in between them again and she reached for his face. He leant down to her and kissed back as she kissed him softly.

"You- Peter, you say such wonderful things to me," she whispered shakily.

Peter moved his wife gently while he kissed her and she broke away from him and moved to the bed, she climbed onto it and waited for him to sit down too before she moved to him and embraced him. They lay down together kissing each other tenderly, Peter moved over his naked wife and pressed himself against her, warming her, covering her body while he kissed her and stroked her face gently. She shivered up against him, her heart was beating hard, he could feel it as she kissed eagerly but breathlessly at his face, she was nervous at what he was going to do to her, he knew she wouldn't admit it but she was probably frightened too, as he had not even told her what he was going to do.

"It is not as gentle as a kiss," he said softly, "but I will not hurt you," he promised and she nodded as his left hand stroked down her body, over the leg that was riding up, rubbing against his side. He stroked her firmly and he could feel her pressing her body up against his. Her body wanted something different to what he was to give.

He pushed his hand between them and he stroked her slowly, slid his fingers against her silky skin and rubbed gently, he looked down at her face, close to his and she smiled a little and breathed out shakily, half in relief and half in exasperation.

"You- you are to tickle me?" she asked him and she smiled at the sensation as he lowered his face to hers.

"You are not impressed," he said quietly, "but you forget I know this part of you now," he moved a finger to a sensitive area and he teased it gently making her gasp a little.

"T-tickling is still very gentle," she said softly and she kissed his mouth weakly but she enjoyed the coupling of his breath on her face and his hand between her legs. She shivered and kissed him deeply as he rubbed at her sensitive skin a little harder. She broke away from his mouth but pressed her nose against his as she sighed and hung onto his shoulders. "It- it is nice, Peter," she admitted through her smile.

"Would, would you like more, my darling?" he asked her nervously, wondering if he was doing the right thing. She nodded, pressed her nose against his face and kissed his mouth.

"Yes," she breathed against him as his gentle hand tickled and stroked her, "yes, Peter," she begged him quietly.

"Amelia, you push my hand away, tell me to stop if you need me to," he said softly and he still rubbed at her though more firmly than before, his fingers sliding further and deeper against her soft silky skin. She shook her head and pressed back against his fingertips.

Peter pushed a finger into her and continued to rub ever so gently with the rest of his hand, she shivered against him and put her head back down on the pillows while he tickled her more deeply. He moved his finger inside her warmth, rubbed and tickled gently, moving his face to her neck and kissing her softly, she shivered and put her hands up in his hair. He took out his finger and replaced it with two, Amelia made a small noise and her hands moved to his shoulders shakily.

"Is that all right? Darling, are you all right?" he whispered and he did not move the fingers that were deep inside her, only his thumb, which he rubbed gently over her sensitive areas.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I love you, Peter."

She had her eyes closed as she lay on the pillows breathing deeply while he touched her "Amelia, I love you," he told her gently and he moved his right hand from her back up onto the pillows by her face, he touched her cheek, stroked it softly, it was very warm, "will you kiss me?" he asked her nervously wanting her to open her eyes, needing to see she was all right.

She looked up at him, her flushed face was no longer giggly, she looked serious and she leant up to his mouth and kissed him, she kissed him softly and deeply and she moved her body a little, rubbing against his hand as she did so. She put her hands on his face and felt the roughness of his stubble against her thumbs, she looked at him still with that look of appreciation and affection she always had for him. She kissed him tenderly and moved her hands down his body, rubbed his arms gently through his shirt, squeezing appreciatively at his shoulders, her mouth moved a little and she smiled. Peter moved his fingers inside her and she closed her eyes again and shivered and sighed, Amelia leant weakly against his face as he moved down to her cheek once more and kissed her as his fingers worked.

Peter played with her as gently as he could and he moved his face away from hers regularly between his kisses so that she could look at him as she had wanted, but she only opened her eyes occasionally, it was then that she gasped and sighed for him and her mouth smiled the smallest of smiles inviting him to kiss her lips.

He listened to his wife's breathing as he moved his hand against her, it became ragged and she sighed against his face and kissed his cheek in between the small familiar noises she had begun to make. "You're perfect," Peter told her and she shivered and shuddered and moved her mouth to his, she kissed him breathlessly and pressed her nose against his, "Amelia, you're perfect," he whispered, "I love you."

She whimpered as his fingers and his words pushed her over the edge, her body pulsated around his hand and she managed to look up at his face, his large brown eyes were serious as they looked back at her, she pushed his hand away shakily and he took it away from her gently and put it beneath her, on her warm wet back with his other hand. She leant up and kissed him weakly, gratefully.

Amelia's face was warm against his as they lay quietly on their bed, he could feel her still twitching, still recovering from his attentions as he kissed her neck gently. With two of his fingers inside her she had been very tight, he knew he had large hands but he worried about what would happen when they finally did consummate their marriage, how she would react to him, would she be hurt physically? Had she been hurt by him tonight and was she just too afraid to tell him so? He worried that he had hurt her, he could have tickled her gently as she had thought he would to her climax but instead he had brought out a deeper feeling in her, the same kind of feeling that she might experience if they were making love. Perhaps she had not been ready for that level of intrusiveness.

He moved away from her, lay down on his back on his side of the bed and put his hands on his waistcoat, he looked at her by his side, she did not move and look at him only put her arms up and push her long wavy hair out from under her, he saw the scars on the undersides of her upper arms as she did so. Her brother had cut her when she would make a noise of protestation, he knew this was why she did not protest at anything he did to her, not because she was not frightened he would hurt her, but it was ingrained in her.

Peter reached for her hand when she put it down by her side, she looked at him, sighed shakily and spoke quietly, "thank you, Peter."

He stared at her and his heart beat painfully in his chest. Amelia looked at the dark anxious eyes and she raised her eyebrows in concern "Do- do you want to ask me something, Peter?" she whispered. "Do you wish to talk about what we just did?"

"I," he opened his mouth but didn't know what to say, he shook his head, "did I hurt you?" he whispered in concern.

"No, Peter, no!" she said gently, she moved to him and reached for his face, she pushed her fingers through his hair, "of course not, I- I would have told you,"

"It is only, you- you are not usually like this after I- after I have brought that out in you," he said nervously looking down at her and touching her hands as she lay up against his side.

"It- it was a different feeling," she admitted, "it," she smiled a little and her teeth shone in the candlelight, "it was just much more exhausting!" He let go of her in relief and she moved back down to the pillows and closed her eyes, she smiled, he watched her teeth and she breathed a small laugh, "my, my body is still shaking, still exhausted by you, it is wonderful."

He lay on the bed listening to her breathing, glancing at that dreamy look on her face, it took a good ten minutes before it faded to her normal smile and she moved her hands from down by her sides where she had let them fall when he had moved away from her, she rested one on the other on her stomach and she breathed normally once more.

"Peter," she said his name quietly but she did not look at him, just up at the ceiling and the flickering light that the candles cast on it. He turned his face on the pillows and looked at her pretty pale profile. "How," she swallowed and risked a quick glance at his large patient eyes, "how do you know all this?" she asked him and she grinned a little and blushed, "how do you know about women and- and what will please a woman? Do all men just- just know?" she raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

He smiled a little now, relief had washed over him and so had pride, the pride returned as she asked her question and the corner of his mouth twitched a small smile and he looked at her affectionately, he shook his head, "no," he said and he tried not to sound superior but he couldn't help feeling proud of himself, "I- I don't think many Englishmen know at all," he told her. Amelia turned onto her side and propped her head on her hand, she looked down at him with interest.

"You learned in India, didn't you?" she asked him interestedly, as though they were talking about any other interesting thing he had experienced in India. "Through books?" she asked and she blushed and lay back down and looked at the ceiling again realising he could not possibly have learned what she was asking through books.

Peter moved this time and he looked down at her, he raised his eyebrows a little and she did not look at his face, she was pink with embarrassment, "you are right, Amelia," he told her quietly and she looked up at him in surprise, "lots of things from books, but of course, you- I think what you are thinking is also right, that it, it is from experience."

"I- I know," she said quickly and she looked down at her hands now clasped on her naked chest, "I know that, Peter, I- I mean," she looked up at him, "I know you have been in love before, you- you have told me."

"Yes," he agreed, "I have been in love before," he looked down at her avoiding his eye, "but that was a very long time ago, Amelia," he swallowed and she looked up to see his eyes widen in panic.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

He laughed suddenly, a forced laugh and he shook his head, "oh dear," he said to himself rather than to her, "before- before you were born," he admitted and his young wife blushed and managed to smile.

"What was she like?" she asked softly.

"Older than me," he said and Amelia looked up in surprise, "Oh, I mean, older than I was!" he clarified, "not older than me now," he raised the eyebrows again, "she- she was already married."

"Peter!" Amelia said in amazement and despite her mixed feelings of worry and jealousy she smiled and she hit her husband playfully on the arm.

"It wasn't a happy marriage, Darling," he tried defensively, "it, well, in India it is the norm to have one's marriage arranged for you, by your parents."

Amelia stayed silent, it hadn't crossed her mind that Peter would have been in love with an Indian woman. She had automatically imagined an elegant British woman with pretty blonde hair, she had hated the image she had had but now she was somehow intrigued, the woman she had imagined had been the kind of beauty that she envied, wished she could possess, but Indian women were completely different to her, beautiful, exotic, interesting. How could he possibly like her after having loved someone like that?

"How did you meet?" she asked quietly.

"She- she found me," Peter admitted, "I was living nearby and she had seen me painting, I, I suppose she found me interesting, I was different."

"And she was different for you," Amelia said knowingly, Peter laughed a short laugh and shook his head.

"Amelia, I didn't know anything about women! She wasn't different from anything because I didn't know anything!" he smiled, "we- we had our love affair for a few months, but it couldn't ever be any more than it was, she, she was already married."

"It- it wasn't awful was it?"

He looked down at her in confusion, "what wasn't?" he asked unsurely.

"For her," Amelia stressed, and she swallowed painfully, "her marriage, she- you didn't, because you couldn't save her."

"Oh, Darling," Peter smiled, "you, you don't understand," he touched her face, "you sweet thing. She was in love with her husband, she wasn't in love with me, do not worry, she was quite happy when it ended, like I said, I- I was just something different for her, some small distraction."

"Oh." Amelia said in sad surprise, "then it was you, you Peter, who was heartbroken," he nodded but smiled at her, "I- I just didn't like the idea of someone out there suffering, suffering because they could not be with you."

"Angel, you are so selfless, but so silly," he said gently and he kissed her forehead gently. "She loved him, even though he was not always there. It is a different culture, I can't pretend to understand even though I lived there for so long. And I was not heartbroken for long," he smiled, "I was a stupid boy, she was not the love of my life."

"She taught you about women?" Amelia asked quietly. Peter nodded, "then I am grateful to her." She looked up at him and smiled, "but more grateful to you," she grinned a little, "you learned from books?" she still smiled, "they are not books a lady should read I suppose?"

"Definitely not," Peter grinned, "not many words anyway," he looked down at her and glanced over her lovely soft body, "and I know you don't like books with too many pictures." She looked up at him with wide eyes but she smiled at him and put her arms around him as he moved over her and embraced her. She giggled.

"Peter, you are supposed to read poetry and other beautiful things," she warned him through her smile.

"And you are supposed to press flowers and do needlework," he mimicked her and she kissed his mouth, "I do not complain," he said between her kisses, "and I do not hear you complaining."

She smiled with her eyes closed and shivered under the warmth of his body crushing her on their bed, she kissed him more forcefully and breathed out shakily against his cheek.

"Am, am I- do you compare us?" she whispered nervously against his face.

"No Angel," he said gently, "Darling, there is no point," he said still seriously and Amelia felt her heart beat in her throat, she nodded acceptingly, he would say they were too different but she would know what he meant, his Indian princess would have been perfect and she was scarred in every way. "I knew she wasn't the love of my life," he told her softly, "I knew at the time, but Amelia, you- you are my life, my soul, I love you."

"Peter," she sighed his name and put her hands up into his hair, she kissed him gratefully. "this- this has been the most wonderful Christmas, thank you."


	19. Chapter 18: Unrest

Chapter Eighteen: Unrest

Miss Matty looked down at the new letter, it was nearing the end of January and her brother still did not hint at when he was returning to his home. He wrote to her twice or three times a week, much more regularly than when he had been abroad, and she supposed she had Amelia's influence to thank for that, but the letters gave nothing away and they only made Matty worry more.

Reports of how they had spent Christmas and New Years Eve were of no interest to her, knowing that they walked in the countryside during the day and read new dramas in the evenings infuriated her. She gained some relief knowing that they must both have been safe and in good health but the letters were empty. She wanted to know where they were, when they were coming back, how long they intended to stay away, how she could contact them. Important things.

Her fiancé was growing more irritated by the letters and it was affecting their relationship. He had turned back into the man he had been when he first returned to Cranford the year previously, he was short tempered and did not want to spend as much time with her anymore. It was because he felt guilty. All of this was his fault, he had helped them elope and now he could not help the person he was duty bound to help, Robin Walker, the man who paid for his mother and sister's house, the man who paid rent to him.

Mr Buxton did not like to talk about Amelia anymore. When he talked to Miss Matty impatiently about the lack of information he spoke only about her brother, he referred only to Peter, as though Amelia was not a person he had ever cared for. Robin Walker had changed his views on the young woman and he would not talk to Miss Matty about it in any detail at all. All she knew was that his loyalties were now with the young man, not with Amelia nor with Peter.

And this worried Miss Matty further. She wished they would come back soon and everything could go back to normal but at the same time she sometimes wished for their sake that they would never come back because she did not know what would happen if they did. She felt very sure that the happiness in her brother's letters was true and so if her fiancé and the young woman's brother were to rip them apart as soon as they stepped foot in Cranford then she knew her little brother would be heartbroken. She did not know what to wish. She just wanted it to be over.

The girl who had become her closest friend over the traumatic few months, Erminia, had strayed and changed since Christmas as well. She still visited regularly but now her conversation offered hardly any reassurance or distraction, she spoke only of Mr Walker, just as Mr Buxton did. And though both of the inhabitants of Cranford Old Hall spoke with respect for the young businessman, Erminia could not disguise the other feeling in her voice.

At the beginning of January, when Mr Buxton had started to become short with the unhelpful letters from Miss Matty's brother, the old spinster had decided to try and ascertain from the innocent girl what sort of character Mr Walker was as her fiancé did not talk about him that way and she herself had still not spoken more than two words to him. Matty wanted to know what Mr Walker had said to make her fiancé change his attitude to Amelia so drastically. At the beginning of December he had thought her a sad girl with a father-complex, then a liar and now he did not speak of her at all, what did he think now? Miss Matty could not ask him, so instead she wondered if Erminia knew.

But the girl had long since passed the stage of being intrigued by Amelia, not when her brother was so much more interesting. All she said of what Robin Walker spoke of his sister was that she was a poor confused girl who had caused his mother so much suffering. When Miss Matty questioned her or pushed the subject it was only greeted by sad shakings of the head and Erminia saying things like "it is not good for you, Miss Matty, to dwell on this, let us be happy that they are both well."

* * *

Harry Stephens stood in the stable yard and watched Erminia through the gap in between the buildings, he had been distracted from tending the horses by her laugh and he had turned to see her standing in the grounds with the young man.

Mr Buxton was also present, he was a few metres behind the young people speaking to Captain Brown at the gate, Harry had seen Mr Walker at the hall lots of times but he had never seen him with the young lady of the house. It was something he had worried about from the very first time he had seen him walking with his employer to the door of his grand home. He was a young man, travelled and interesting, the first young gentleman Erminia would have ever met. And he had seen how taken his employer was with the well turned out boy, the girl would follow suit.

Harry could see it though, the cruelty that the girl in the Peak District had told him of, he could see it in the young man's eye. He had seen it the day after he had returned from delivering the old man and his bride to their new home. Mr Buxton had demoted him to the lowest rank available and in his new life as stable boy his first job was to be interviewed by the cold young man.

His attitude was exactly as the girl had described. When Miss Jenkyns had questioned him because she was worried about her brother she had been nervous and compassionate, as you'd expect of someone worried about a family member. Mr Walker had not questioned him with the compassion of one concerned over the whereabouts of his sister. He had gone straight to anger and cruelty.

Harry had not told him anything, had not said a word, he had not told him the reason his sister feared him because he had not asked. He had not broken down and asked 'why? Why would she run from me?' he had only called him names, threatened him and at one point come close to hitting him.

And after that uneventful meeting Harry had not been spoken to again by Mr Walker, he had seen him a few times at the hall and knew he was there regularly, but only once had Robin Walker glanced at him and seen him looking back. He had looked down at him the way a lot of young gentlemen in the North had looked at him, with indifference, but after the glance of indifference there was a twitch of an eyebrow and what looked like a smirk, as though he enjoyed seeing him demoted.

He did not seem to speak to Erminia coldly, but Harry could not hear him talking at all, only Erminia's voice and Erminia's laugh. It was she who was interested in him, not the other way around. Harry did not want the ward of his employer to become attached to that man. He longed for the return of the two people he'd helped escape, he knew the girl would be able to warn Erminia in a way he as a stable boy had absolutely no right to do.

They had been friends once, he and Erminia, before his demotion and before Robin Walker had come to the house. He knew it was because he was the only young person for her to speak to, but he felt sure she had enjoyed his company enough for them to continue to be friends even if she did have a beau.

At Christmas she had danced with him in the stables and drunk a glass of whiskey with him and the other servants. She had laughed that same laugh with him, he knew he could never be anything more to her than just a friend but he wished he could be the sort of friend who was allowed to give advice.

* * *

"It is not healthy," Mrs Walker said curtly, "why, why Robin, when you talk of this girl of yours must you always compare her to your sister?" she hissed under her breath as she brought her son a glass for the bottle he drank from.

"Mother they are practically the same age, it is completely natural for me to compare Miss Whyte to Amelia. They are quite similar shapes too," he mused as he ignored the glass she had put on the side. "Though Minnie is a little skinnier," he said finitely.

"You must stop mentioning her," Mrs Walker said irritably.

Robin ignored his mother and thought to himself about the similarities between his sister and Erminia. He was curious to know what was beneath Erminia's clothes, how similar she would seem then. Before Amelia he had never seen a white woman's body, would Erminia seem less sickly looking?

Women's bodies interested him, they always had. There had been plenty of white women in India for him to charm but he had not seen the point when he could just take whichever peasant girl he pleased. He had not come back to England with the intention of taking his sister but it had been so easy and it had been a long time since India.

She had been so infuriating, so high and mighty, so holier than thou. It had made him angry. He had been away for ten years and come back to a sister who thought him a brute? What did she know about the real world? She had been reading and praying and in her own world for the last ten years, she had no idea what reality was, how dare she snub him and tell him how to behave? He needed to put her in her place, women had to be put in their place and after her attitude he hadn't seen any reason why he shouldn't show her what her place was.

It had been good fun but he knew that fun was over, when she returned with the old man- and he knew they would return- he would have her committed. He would see to it that it was somewhere nice, somewhere private, he would visit her regularly. He didn't care what happened to the old man, if he was trouble Robin could always make him disappear, he had made lots of people in India disappear, why should it be any different in a nowhere village in England? Besides he had people on his side, people he had charmed, the richest man in the county was already wrapped around his finger and that man's fiancée was the sister of the elderly man who had taken Amelia away from him, surely Mr Buxton had his woman under control, on their side, there would be no one for Peter Jenkyns to turn to when they took Amelia away from him. Mr Buxton had been easy to charm. He was a businessman, very traditional, he had known straight away that Robin was the man, the earner and provider, he had sided with him immediately. And now, after months of charming him the man was keen for Robin to spend more time with his ward, the only girl in Cranford, Robin expected he wished him to propose marriage to her. He had no intention of doing that.

He wasn't sure what his plans for Erminia were. He would have her of course, he had put so much effort into charming her that he deserved her, didn't he? But he was not going to be lumbered with the long limbed girl, he found her interesting but he knew once he had seen and sampled what she had to offer all interest would go and he would move on. Besides, when Amelia returned he would move his mother back to Cambridge where she wished to be and Amelia into a London madhouse and between the two cities there would be many women, Erminia was the only thing Cranford had to offer, he would not stay.

He did have some small plan of how to have her and leave her, it would not matter if her guardian found out about it because by then Robin would have made his exit, but he felt it would probably be best to keep on Mr Buxton's good side, it was always useful to have rich friends and besides he wasn't sure if he could wait much longer, the girl was a flirt and a tease. His plan involved the stable boy, the boy who knew where Amelia really was. Robin would punish him and he would have Erminia at the same time.

* * *

"This is ridiculous!" Mr Buxton said angrily and Matty clutched at her tea cup, startled by him, "I'm sorry!" he said angrily, and he did not seem sorry, "but I cannot do this any longer," he stood up from the sofa and left the room, Miss Matty sat in shock but quickly found her feet and followed him.

"Jonathan, what, what do you mean? Do you mean- do you mean, me?" she asked desperately.

"Matilda, no! No of course not," he reached for her arms and held her reassuringly, but not long enough for her to feel he meant it, "I still have every respect for you, this is not your fault, not your fault he still writes nothing, nothing of importance when he must know what chaos he has caused." He spoke angrily and Matty's face hurt as she looked up at him.

"He- he does not know," she started to defend her absent brother quietly but her fiancé spoke over her.

"He does not give us an address to tell him so! He is delusional, sucked in by her lies! No, that is enough." He said again and shook his head. "There is someone who knows where they are and I will not stop now until he tells me."

"Jonathan, no!" Matty said in shock, "what do you intend to do to him? He's just a boy!"

"He is in my employment, if he wishes to stay in my employment he will have to tell me. I have been kind, too kind and I will not lie, it is because of you and because of Erminia, if it was not for the two of you and your irrational hearts I would have had it out of him months ago."

"No, Jonathan, you mustn't!"

"I do not intend on beating him!" Mr Buxton said angrily, "what do you think of me, Matilda? I am only impassioned because of Mr Walker! His grief at being separated from his family!"

"And what of my grief?" Matty said quickly, angrily, "you must be patient!" she said with tears in her eyes, "you said you would be! Peter will return, he says he will!"

Mr Buxton shook his head and reached for his coat, Matty watched in horror.

She had come to the Old Hall to visit her friends that afternoon but when she arrived she had already found this grey cloud over her fiancé. He had been taking tea with his ward and with Amelia's brother, the two young people had looked very serious and when Matty had arrived Erminia, now clearly devoted to the boy had suggested some air might help him and the two had left them to take tea alone.

There had been silence as Matty feared saying anything. Mr Buxton had become obsessed with it, he was more concerned with the matter of Peter and Amelia's whereabouts than with anything else, Matty was deeply saddened by it. She had once laughed with him, been excited at the prospect of a visit, but now all she did was wonder if he would manage to go through an hour without mentioning how furious he was, how frustrated it made him. She had nothing, she did not have her brother's love, she did not have her fiance's attention and it had happened gradually but now she did not have Erminia's friendship either.

Mr Buxton was angry but she did as she always did, protested, told him to be patient but secretly, this time, as she watched him walk through his house in his top coat and to the back door where he would find his servants and talk angrily, aggressively even, to the nice boy who had helped her brother and his young wife, secretly Miss Matty wanted him to have the answers he looked for and then perhaps he would calm down, he would be the man who she had fallen in love with once more and it would all be over.

* * *

Mr Buxton entered his stables but the boy was not there. His horses were fine but where was the person he paid to look after them, "Boy?" he called shortly, there came no answer so he left the stables angrily and looked about the yard, it was cold, there was no call for any of his servants to be outside and so the yard was empty, there was no one for him to ask. He walked around the house, in the distance he could see sat on one of the benches in his ornamental garden his ward and Mr Walker, he turned to walk the other way not wanting to intrude on them. The boy must at least be allowed to find some comfort in a friendship with his dear girl, she would be a good friend to him as she had been to his son. In the moment he turned though he looked again, the young people were sitting on a bench looking away from him, they looked out at the view of the valley, Mr Buxton saw something that made his eyes flash with fury.

He walked to them quickly, determinedly, both Mr Walker and Erminia looked up and Erminia even stood and blushed terribly but her guardian didn't look angrily at them, he walked breathlessly to the rosebush beside them and grabbed the shock of red hair he'd seen from down by the yard. Erminia looked shocked and embarrassed as the boy made a small pained noise but did not cry out at his employee's roughness.

"Harry?" she said his name in disbelief.

"You disgusting wretch!" Mr Buxton spat as he pushed the boy away from them, "explain yourself, explain yourself right now!"

"Clearly this lad has an unhealthy obsession with your niece," Mr Walker spoke, "it's a good job you saw him."

"No, that's not true!" Erminia said defensively, "is it?" she looked at Harry anxiously.

Harry looked only at the men, from one to the other, how could he explain himself, tell them he did not trust Robin Walker and that he had not let the man out of his sight each and every time he visited the hall. The men would thrash him, they would ask him what his reason was, Robin Walker would know he knew too much.

"It's true," Harry said quietly, it was the easiest way out. He looked up at Erminia, whose face fell in disappointment, they had been friends once, long ago it seemed now. "I didn't mean no harm, Miss," he assured her quietly.

"Don't speak to her!" Mr Buxton shouted, "don't you dare speak to her!" he turned to Robin, "take her inside," he said shortly.

"No," Erminia said with worry as she saw the look on her uncle's face, "what are you going to do?" she cried.

"Take her inside!"

Erminia went with the young man and they walked away from the sad scene. She turned her head to the floor as they walked and she felt heartbroken for her poor friend, she felt embarrassed and ashamed that he had heard the conversation she had been having with Robin and she felt utterly saddened and guilty because she knew his loyalty to her would mean he would not tell her guardian what they had been saying.

"Pervert," Robin said quietly, "amazing what these lower people will do to get their kicks."

"Robin, don't!" Erminia said painfully and he was silent as they walked back to the house.

* * *

"What has happened?" Matty saw her friend's face as they came into the drawing room, Erminia shook her head and was silent, she walked to the window and peered out of it. They were on the wrong side of the house to see anything but she did not want to look at Miss Matty or Robin.

"Mr Buxton found the stable boy hiding in the bushes watching Miss Erminia and myself," Robin explained quietly. Matty raised her hand to her mouth in shock then moved to Erminia.

"Is this true?" she whispered and Erminia nodded and still did not look at her.

"Mr Buxton is dealing with him," Robin told the room. "It shan't be long now, we shall soon know the whereabouts of my sister- and your brother of course, Miss Jenkyns."

"Yes, yes I suppose we shall," Matty said distantly while she still looked with concern at Erminia, tears were falling silently down her face as she looked at the cold grey sky.

* * *

"After that still nothing?" Robin was hissing. Even though the men spoke quietly in the hallway Matty and Erminia could hear every word.

"You must let me talk to him again," Robin spoke and there was a fury in his strangely calm voice, hidden but it made Matty shudder. "I must know where she is."

"Yes, yes, I know," Mr Buxton in contrast sounded tired, "I know, my dear boy, I'm sorry, I apologise- I, I was not concentrating I fear on the bigger picture only- my anger, I let my anger at- at his behaviour towards Erminia, in that moment, that was my main concern with him."

Erminia breathed painfully a little and looked down at the fire, Miss Matty looked at her and tried to touch her hand but she shuddered and pulled away from her.

"I understand completely." Robin spoke again. "Can I speak to him?

"He is in the stables, collecting his things, he's all yours."

Erminia gasped and looked at the door in terror then she looked down at Miss Matty and spoke "Why does your brother not return?" she hissed, "Why does this have to happen?" Matty looked sorrowfully back but Erminia still spoke, "Why can he not see Amelia is not a good person? She has tricked us all! This is her fault!"

Matty gasped and felt tears in her eyes. "I shall never believe that," she said painfully and she stood up and walked to the door.

"Matilda, I told you to wait with Erminia," Mr Buxton said to her in surprise at seeing her.

"I'm leaving," she told him and she did not look at any of them, just reached for her cloak and bonnet and put them on. "There is no need for me to be here, I'm in the way."

"Mr Walker will soon find out where your brother is, is that not reason enough to stay?"

"I have told you a hundred times I shall wait for my brother to tell me himself!" Matty said angrily. "I do not see that he is in any great danger, he sends me cards and letters telling me what he is doing; he goes to church, he reads periodicals, he eats dinner with his wife! There is no urgency that I can see to locate him!"

She left the house and on the path was almost knocked over by Robin Walker who did not apologise to her but looked angrily at her, "Where are they?" he said furiously. "Where is my sister?" she stared back, struck silent with fear for a moment but she remembered how brave she had been inside the house and she frowned.

"I think they have made it perfectly clear that they do not wish any of us to know."

Robin cursed and ran into the house, Matty carried on on her way though she breathed painfully and was rattled indeed by her time at the hall. She would not be returning in a hurry.

* * *

"The boy disappeared!" Mrs Johnson told the ladies in her shop. "Before Mr Walker could question him, he disappeared!"

Miss Pole looked appalled and she glanced around madly, presumably looking for Harry Stephens, "I don't like the idea of finding him in my bushes! Filthy beast!"

"He'll be long gone by now," Mrs Forrester said reassuringly.

"But why is he protecting them? What interest does he have in Miss Matty's brother and Miss Walker?" Miss Tompkinson spoke.

"He probably used to spy on her as well!" Miss Pole said in disgust. "Oh, Miss Matty's brother is in such trouble! And he probably doesn't even know it!"

"I do not think that can be true," Mrs Forrester said calmly.

"He lived in his own world," Mrs Johnson said mysteriously, "perhaps they are right to be worried."

"Do you think the Stephens boy will go to them? To Miss Walker I mean? Perhaps there is some sort of agreement there?" Miss Pole thought out loud, as usual they were sprawling outrageous thoughts with little connection but they were enough to get the other ladies thinking and worrying themselves. "Poor Mr Walker! And his poor mother!" She sighed, "I must take them something."

* * *

Miss Matty had not seen her friends for some time, any of them. The women she'd once regarded as her little group of close friends had long since drifted from her. And she did not wish to see her fiancé while any of this was happening, they had not broken their engagement but Matty thought it was as good as broken, she would not marry a man who was so hell-bent on ruining her brother's happiness. She knew what their plans were, she had overheard them, they wanted to separate them the moment they set foot back in Cranford.

She sat in her quiet, lonely home and looked through her brother's letters, she looked at all the little cards her young sister-in-law had made for her over the past year. She was a kind and sweet girl, quiet and bookish, why was all this fuss being made over her?

Why did the brother believe her to be dangerous or mad or whatever it was they all seemed to think? Why did no one listen to her or read their letters? Why was the mother such a hateful woman? Matty did not understand any of it.

She walked to the kitchen and went to boil a kettle, she would have tea and she would go to bed and pray for Peter and Amelia's safe return. It would all work out, People would see them together and realise it had all been a misunderstanding. Perhaps, Matty gasped at the thought, perhaps Amelia would return happy and pregnant, the thought filled Matty with such joy and sadness and she didn't know why, she cried a little while she looked out onto her tiny back garden.

Her brother would make a wonderful father to a child, even if he was old, he was kind and generous and patient. Amelia would be made so happy by it too, the small sad girl she had sometimes been, she would be protective and loving and gentle, a child would light up her life. And then the people of Cranford would see there was nothing bad between her brother and her friend; only love. A baby was what Matty would pray for.


	20. Chapter 19: Dreams and Nightmares

Chapter Nineteen: Dreams and Nightmares

Amelia watched her husband as he slept in the chair in front of the fire. They had been out that morning for a long walk. The weather had been so clear, so crisp, it had been the first time since they'd been there that they'd wanted to be outside longer than ten minutes! And the air had been good for them, it had knocked him out. They'd got back to the house and had a bite to eat and as soon as he'd sat down Peter had been out like a light. Amelia kept her eye on the fire. It was still January, it was freezing out there and they needed the fires or they'd freeze in the night.

Life had been good to them since Christmas, they had had warm days in front of the fire reading the adventure story he had found for them. They discussed it in great detail each time they left the house and walked to the market. It was Amelia who had started to draw scenes from the chapters they had read in the afternoons before the light got too dark, Peter had admired them and had even joined in, they would often have competitions, drawing the same scenes how each of them imagined it might be and then they'd look at each other's drawings when it got too dark to draw or paint and they'd laugh and be amazed. Amelia would always like his more and he would like hers.

They sat and drew one another as they had done once or twice when they had just been friends. But now Amelia was allowed to pose for longer and he was allowed to look serious and take his time, he drew a beautiful picture of her and she was allowed, as his wife, to thank him in what she found an appropriate way.

They had their moments of passion, nothing more than the kisses and touches they had allowed themselves, Amelia didn't press for anything more, she knew there were still worries in their lives, she did not think about it but she knew they would return to Cranford soon and the thought scared her. He was right to not make love to her properly, he was waiting until she knew she was completely safe, here in their home they were safe, of course they were, but they were safe to play, to draw, to read and to kiss like children, they were not grown ups in this house.

Amelia stoked the fire and snuck into the kitchen quietly, she had prepared a dinner for them after their lunch, now all she had to do was put the pie into the oven and in an hour or so it would be ready. They sometimes did not eat in the evening, they went to bed early to get out of the cold and they'd have had a late lunch. When they went to bed amorous though she found they always came back down again and needed the dinner she'd prepared. It was not a worry, they would have cold pie for lunch the next day if they did not need it.

She went back into the main room of the house where Peter sat warm in front of the fire and she looked at the day outside, it was dark, she would not paint anymore, she would get the colours wrong. She touched Peter's thick white hair, brushed her fingers through it and looked down at his thick eyebrows, there were some white hairs in them that she had not noticed before. She was aging him. She leant down and kissed his forehead shakily. He woke and looked up at her, he smiled and she sat down onto his lap and he held her.

"Hello," he said quietly, "is it bed time?"

"No," she whispered and she smiled down at him, "it is only five o'clock, besides, you have been asleep for two hours."

"All the more reason to carry on sleeping," he smiled, "What did you do while I was asleep? Do you think I'm a terrible old thing? Such anti-social behaviour, napping!"

"I painted one of the smuggling ship scenes, but it's not finished."

"A productive nap," he mused, "I'll nap again tomorrow and you can finish it." She giggled and kissed his face, she put her hands through his hair and they kissed and kissed gently. "Are you sure it's not time for bed?" he raised an eyebrow and she sighed and smiled.

"Peter," she whispered, "what were you dreaming about?" she grinned at him and he smiled back.

"I dreamt it was Summer and I was painting you, it was so warm that you took off your clothes and I painted you just like that." She grinned and he smiled.

"Was it good?" she asked and he raised his eyebrows and looked off to the side and smiled before answering.

"It was a masterpiece!" he joked and she laughed and smiled at him, she kissed him and he kissed back and held her close to him, he breathed heavily through his nose and she felt his breath on her face and she became excited by it. Her face burned with heat and she pressed it against him and kissed his cheek softly.

"Would you like to paint me like that one day, Peter?" she asked him very quietly, he nodded against her face.

"Yes," he told her, "I should like to, very much." She shivered and held onto him. "I want to show you how beautiful you are." She kissed him gratefully and stood up, pulled him up and embraced him.

"The painting, the painting you gave to me that day," she whispered against his face, "I know I've said before but I must tell you, it was so beautiful, Peter, I did not recognise myself."

"It did not do you justice," he kissed her, held her tightly and kissed her face and neck.

"It was only when you gave it to me," she whispered, "that I knew for sure, that I loved you. Knowing you saw me that way."

"My darling," he whispered and kissed her neck still, "I- I knew I loved you before that, far, far before that."

"Peter!" she whispered his name in surprise.

"It was the only way I could show you, show you in a decent way, the only way a man my age would be allowed to say it, how beautiful you are. How I adored you."

"Peter, I love you, I adore you," she whispered and she held him. "Shall we go upstairs?"

* * *

They lay on their bed and kissed one another. "Peter," she breathed as he kissed at her collar bone and her soft white skin, Amelia lay on their bed in her underwear and he lay against her with his clothes on, "Peter, may I, can I touch you?" she asked quietly. He paused and looked down at her, she looked back and leant up to kiss his mouth gently. "I- not, not do everything, I mean," she whispered in embarrassment, "but I- I should like to touch you, to know you, so that when we do eventually, it is- is just the next step, a small step. And," she swallowed, "and I want you to show me," she whispered, "what you like."

He nodded which surprised her and for a moment she felt a wave of fear. But he leant down and kissed her face, "thank you, you are such a generous girl," he said softly, "but I shall gladly do what we- what we have been doing if you find you do not like it, it does not matter to me."

"Peter, it should matter," she whispered in concern and he shook his head and smiled.

"It does not." They looked at one another nervously and Amelia smiled, he smiled back and they both laughed a little and embraced one another and kissed. "You can no doubt feel," he whispered in an embarrassed voice, "that he has been scared off by this serious talk." Amelia smiled and blushed.

She could not pretend she had not felt it in the past, when they were downstairs in front of the fire holding each other close and kissing desperately she had felt it against her, she felt it when they were in bed together when he kissed her so passionately. It was sometimes so hot and hard against the cotton of his nightshirt as they pressed their bodies together, but it did not frighten her, she had always liked to feel it, she knew it was there because he wanted her. It was only there when they were passionate together, when he confessed his feelings, it was appropriate, appropriate for a man to have for his wife.

"Kiss me then," she whispered to him and she put her arms around him, "kiss me, Peter, I want to feel your passion for me."

He kissed her and it reappeared almost immediately at her words, she pushed her hand down his back over the shirt he wore and she moved her hand between them, still over his clothes but she placed her hand gently over him and squeezed, held him.

"Would, would you like me to- to take my clothes off?" he asked at her mouth, "because I don't have to."

"I," she blushed, "I should quite like to see you, if that's all right, Peter?"

He nodded and she pulled her slip over her head and pushed down her stockings and her knickers so she too could be naked while Peter took off his trousers and socks. Amelia sat up on the bed and put her arms around him while he had his back to her, she kissed his cheek. "Peter, take your shirt off too," she whispered.

"Are you sure?" he asked nervously, "then there will be nowhere to hide," he looked over his shoulder.

"You have seen me naked, am I not allowed to see you?" she asked and she smiled nervously.

"Amelia, men are disgusting!" he reminded her and she smiled a little, "to look at," he clarified.

"I don't mind," she said and she watched him take off his shirt, she looked at his back, he was not disgusting, he was pale and there were a few freckles on his skin. He turned around on the bed and she smiled at him though she did not look at anything but his face.

"We should lie down," he told her and she nodded and she lay down quietly, he lay down next to her and she moved her arms around him. She touched his smooth skin and rubbed his back as she had done countless times through his clothes, she moved her hands down his back, there was a small fluff of hair at the base of his spine, she pushed her hands over it and back up his body, she smiled nervously at him and she looked down over his arms as he touched her face gently, she brushed her hand over the dark hair on his arm and pushed her fingers up over the pale white skin and onto his shoulder again.

She pushed her fingers up into his hair and kissed his lips, she kissed him gently. "Peter," she whispered his name, "you are lovely," she told him and he smiled, a small breath of laughter and relief left his nose.

"Thank you, Amelia," he said back, "I am not beautiful, some young men are, I'm afraid I never was."

"It doesn't matter to me," she whispered, "you are all I have seen, you are so beautiful, Peter," she touched his face, "you cannot tell me the young man in that self portrait was not beautiful, I see him here, he is so lovely."

"You are lovely," he whispered painfully and he kissed her mouth appreciatively, "you are so lovely, Amelia."

He touched her skin, gripped at her gently, stroked and kissed her as she clung to him, he felt her move a hand between them and she touched him, he kissed her neck softly and he reached and moved his hand to hers. She was silent as she let him help her, he closed her hand around him and he moved her hand gently. He let go of her leaving her touching him on her own and he looked down at her face, she did not look at what she was doing just up at him.

"Is that, are you all right?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Do you like it, Peter?' she asked. He nodded and breathed shakily. They kissed again and Peter put his hand up against her, pushed at her skin and massaged her gently while they kissed.

Amelia broke away from his kiss but touched his nose with hers and breathed as his fingers played lightly on her skin. She held onto him with one hand while the other was also between them, she pushed it up his body touched the sprinkle of hairs on his chest and kept her hand against his warm skin.

She sighed and closed her eyes pushed her body up against his hand, up against all of him, she let go of him as her feelings grew strong, she wanted to put her arms around him, be close to all of him. She touched his hair and his face and she sighed and twitched against his hand gratefully.

"Peter," she whispered his name, "thank you, please, I- I want you to, to have that as well," she reached back down between them and touched him again. "Help me," she kissed his cheek breathlessly, "help me do it."

Peter lay down on his back and his young wife pressed herself to his side, "don't look, darling," he whispered, he didn't want her to, but he was nearly there, what she had been doing was fine, but it was her words, her eagerness for them to both share that feeling, that was what had put him so close to the edge. "Kiss me," he asked her and she leant down and kissed him as she reached and touched him, he helped her again and they both touched and played with his body. Peter held her to him, felt their sweaty bodies pressed tightly together, he looked up at her as she kissed his cheek and he felt her hand squeezing and touching him he gasped and breathed heavily as he came. He sighed her name as she still moved her hand around him, he moved her hand away and they both let go, Amelia moved slightly, pressed herself down on him as he breathed heavily and he put his arms around her while he still sighed and twitched a little, "Thank you, thank you, my darling," he whispered and she kissed his cheek. "Thank you, thank you, you lovely generous girl," he kissed and held her gently.

* * *

Harry Stephens coughed into his hands as quietly as he could, he was grateful for the noise of the wind and the rustling leaves. His chest had got considerable worse since he had been sleeping rough. After Mr Buxton had interrogated him and dismissed him he knew that was the time, the time to get out. To leave Cranford and get a job somewhere in the country as a farmhand.

He'd run immediately. He didn't want that young gentleman talking to him again, it had been hard enough the first time, when he'd been the driver that had helped his sister escape from him. Now what was he? Disgraced stable boy, dismissed Peeping Tom.

He knew it had been time to leave for good but he couldn't. He couldn't leave Miss Whyte to be hurt by that man. No one in the entire village saw him for what he was. Only Miss Matty Jenkyns seemed not to trust him.

There had been a night that Harry had come close to knocking on Miss Jenkyns' door. He knew he'd receive kindness and goodness and she'd give him tea and cakes and a warm bed. She was that sort of woman, and then he'd be able to tell someone what he feared, someone who'd believe him. But he'd come to his senses before he'd gone there- he'd got as far as her back garden and even sat in it for a couple of hours, but he'd realised that telling an old woman who was already scared and on her own would do no good, it would only give her more fear herself. He could tell she cared for Miss Whyte, how would she feel to learn Erminia was in danger?

He had told her uncle that he was in love with her, that was the escape he'd used to get out of accusing Mr Walker of wrong-doing. There was still no evidence of that. If he saw him begin to hurt Miss Whyte though, that would be evidence, and having Harry jump out from his hiding place to save her, well, that would be evidence and he would be protecting her, proving to her and to her uncle and all of Cranford that he was good-hearted. That he wasn't a liar. If they believed him about that then they would believe him when he told them about Miss Walker and Mr Jenkyns, he wouldn't even feel bad about giving them the name of the town they were in after that, because he'd know no one was out to hurt them.

He knew it wasn't a good plan, he knew he was better off out of Cranford, but at the same time he knew that he had never lied to his employer, even when he had told him why he was watching the two young people in the garden, it had not been completely a lie; he did love Miss Whyte.

He loved her as many of the servants loved her no doubt, but there had been a friendship between them that was special, not entirely proper but never wrong. They had danced together and drunk together, when they lived in Yorkshire she had ridden the horses with him when her uncle thought she was taking tea with local women. They had been as children together and it hurt Harry to see her with the wrong sort of man.

He knew she would never be his, he had no designs on being anything other than a loyal friend, he was not an idiot, but he could not live with himself if she came to harm at the hands of Robin Walker.

And that's what he had been doing for the past week, he had been watching them from afar. Keeping his eye on them and he was ready for if something went wrong and if his Miss Whyte needed him.

* * *

It was late in the middle of the night, Peter sat in bed and looked down at his wife, he wasn't sure if she was fully asleep, she seemed peaceful but these last few nights he'd had to sit like this and stroke her back and her hair until she fell asleep again. Her nightmares had started a fortnight after she had first started to touch him as he touched her when they were passionate together. He knew he shouldn't connect them, she told him not to, but how could he not?

He had finally, after two months of marriage, two months of him kissing her and touching her and being in bed with her longing for him, finally allowed himself to take his own pleasure from her and she had begun to have nightmares.

None of the nightmares had occurred after nights of passion though, this was what she pointed out to him, she told him she loved him and it pleased her to know he had experienced that same pleasure with her. She told him she wanted him, she desperately wanted them to be as husband and wife and that she was so pleased they could be closer to it than they had been, that when they did finally make love it would be as they were already; it would be so natural between them, so comfortable that she could not possibly have nightmares because of it.

But for the last six days she had woken in a sweat, screaming, crying.

It was because they were leaving soon. They had not really discussed it until that evening. She had been in his arms, quiet as he read soft romantic poetry to her, poems about nature that would not upset her. She was quiet now at night, she did not try and make him feel romantic and she did not talk about the books they had been reading. She was herself during the daytime, she was very happy cooking and painting with him near, she liked their life. But as soon as it got dark she got quieter. She knew the day was coming to an end, their time in their safe house was getting shorter. She didn't need to say it to Peter for him to understand, he had been dreading it too, which was why he had been putting off talking about it.

"Amelia," he said her name softly as he put down the book of poetry, "I know you are worried because we have to leave," he said bravely and she didn't look up at him, just down at the sheets. "But it is just as I said when we came here," he said gently, "we shall return and if things are still not right we shall come straight back."

There was a silence but she nodded after a pause.

"We have been married nearly three months," he stressed quietly, "you are my wife. No one can do anything to us, we are together."

She nodded.

"It's Monday tomorrow," he said quietly, "shall we have one more week here?"

She didn't say anything.

"Amelia," he whispered softly, "please, don't be this way," she looked up at him, he looked saddened, "It will not be as terrible as you fear, they will have gone, everything will be as it should be. And if for some strange, mad, ridiculous reason this is not so I promise I will protect you."

"Peter," she whispered his name in concern and she put her arms around him in their bed, he held her tightly and kissed her forehead, "I so want to believe that nothing has changed," she whispered, "that everyone will be the same as they were, that my mother will have gone back to Cambridge with her son and that your sister waits for us with- with a pot of tea and plate of shortbread," she smiled and he smiled back at her. "But look at us, have we not changed?" she stressed, "I- I thought I knew who I was, that I was a nervous girl who loved to read, who had a secret longing for you. I find now that longing is what I am most, I- I am nothing without you Peter, I shall be nothing without you! I- my greatest fear back then was that he- he'd somehow manage to hurt me again, keep hurting me, but nothing hurts more than the idea of being away from you."

"Darling," he whispered gently and he held her tightly, "I will not let us be parted. I do not even let this fear come into my mind because I know I will not let it happen. Let's not talk about this. Let's talk about what it shall be like. You are right, Matty will be waiting with tea when we arrive."

"D-do you think she shall be married yet?" Amelia tried.

"If she is then think, Amelia, we have a little house of our own to return to," he whispered trying to cheer her.

"With lovely pictures of you and your sisters on the mantle piece," she whispered.

"We shall add more pictures," he whispered and she shivered.

"Peter, Peter I should like that very much," she looked up at him and kissed him, he kissed back and they lay down in the bed, he sat up briefly and blew out the candles.

"Get some sleep, Amelia, we shall have a nice day tomorrow." He had held her until she had fallen asleep then he too had fallen. It was only a couple of hours before she woke up again, crying and shaking. He had lit a candle and soothed her with soft noises. She lay down in the bed wearily and let him stroke her face and her back with his gentle fingers but her breathing was painful for a long time before she fell asleep again.

* * *

He knew she didn't want to leave. They had had nearly three months as husband and wife, despite their troubles, her initial nightmares and then his after she had told him all that had happened to her in her past, they had been very happy as newlyweds.

Their relationship was closer than ever, they were content throughout the day in their roles as husband and wife; Peter wrote letters and read history books, he planned walks for them to take and he paid for the things they bought together in the market. Amelia wrote lists and kept the house warm and clean, she planned meals and cooked and enjoyed watching her husband enjoy the meals she made. But most of all the root of their relationship stayed the same as it always had been, they were content and even excited reading together and escaping to different worlds in the late afternoons and evenings by the fire or in their bed reading and translating the sensational French adventure story they had begun at Christmas. It was the base of the majority of their conversation, what would happen next, which characters were important and why. But Peter knew that basing their lives around reading books would not do, at least, it would not do until they knew that they were safe in the real world.

They did not live in the real world, they lived in a bubble.

Peter knew that if nothing had ever happened to her and he had still somehow ended up marrying her then the life they had made in the Peak District would be real, it would be exactly how they would live except they would be in Cranford and be with his sister and their friends. They would not have to pretend that it was fine because it would be fine. And even though it would be easy to stay in their bubble he knew it was time for them to go home and face reality. He did not know what they would find when they returned, he hoped and hoped every day that it would be as it should be, that her despicable brother would have left, that her mother would have realised the truth and be waiting for her daughter with apologies and his kind older sister would be there to welcome them both back into their real home.

But Amelia didn't want to leave, she still did not say it, but he knew it. She had begun to have nightmares again. After four weeks without any nightmares, from a few days before Christmas right up to the end of January she had been happy, slept peacefully in his arms, she now woke in the middle of the night or early in the morning, sweating, crying, shouting out his name as though she dreamt he was not there to care for her and protect her. It broke his heart to have to take her out of the safety he'd made for her but they had been away too long and he did not want to lose his sister's love, there was only so much letter writing could do before Matilda would begin to hate him for what he had done.

Amelia stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at her husband, he stood with his coat on, the two bags he had brought with him the day they had eloped were packed and by the door behind him. There were two more bags as well, things they had accumulated over the months, mainly clothes, clothes he had been too hasty to pack in the first place and things she never even had a chance to pack.

Peter, seeing her standing there, white as a sheet, sickly against the emerald that usually complimented her skin so well, tried to smile at her. He held the shawl of his sister's, a present from India and spoke to his wife, "come on," he heard himself say softly, "it's time to go." She stared at him for a moment and he wasn't sure what she would do, for a second he thought she was going to turn around and walk back into the room they had slept in together every night as man and wife but she didn't, she paused but nodded reluctantly and walked down the stairs to him. He smiled as she walked to him and let him wrap her in the shawl. He held it tightly to her and she looked up at him still in silence. "We can come back," he told her reassuringly, she nodded again and smiled a little. "You do not need to be afraid, Amelia," he said gently.

"I know," she whispered and she looked up at him.

"This is not the end of our life together," he smiled, "this is only the beginning. We shall go home and we shall be happy together, just as we were here, better," he promised.

"I- I know, Peter," she nodded, "I- I am not afraid of that."

"It will be as it was, Cranford," he told her, "I promise."

"Peter, Peter, you don't know that," she said painfully under her breath. "He- he will have charmed them all! What if, what if I- I am mad?" she whispered, "what if I- if he is there and everyone believes him and I am mad?"

"You are not mad," he told her firmly, "and if they believe that, if any of that is what has happened then we will come back here- where nobody knows- and we will stay here. But Amelia," he told her stolidly, "that is not what it is going to be like."

"I, I know," she said nervously, "I know, you are right, I just," she looked up at him and smiled, her pink lips spreading for a moment across her pale face, "I just enjoyed it so much, playing house with you."

He smiled down at her and his brown eyes were warm, "we were not playing," he said softly, "this is it," he assured her, "the rest of our lives."

She nodded and he leant down a little, she stood on her tiptoes fervently reaching for his kiss and she kissed him, putting her hands on his face then around him, clinging to him. She was breathless, not from passion but from worry and relief, relief of having him. "I love you so much," she told him quietly, "thank you for all of this." She felt her heart hurt when she thanked him, it felt strange, she felt as though after the journey home she would not see him again.

* * *

Mr Buxton sat quietly in thought. The last month had been a difficult one for him but observing the young people he knew now what he had done, what he had lost.

Matilda Jenkyns was a good, kind soul, it was not her fault that her brother had been bewitched, he was sorry now that he'd talked about it so much, that was not what she needed from him as a lover.

The stable boy had disappeared after he'd dismissed him from his employment, he'd been the only real connection he and Robin Walker had had to the whereabouts of his missing sister. After Harry Stephens had disappeared for some reason finding Amelia Walker didn't seem too important. He supposed it was because there was no one to ask, no one who could give them any information. That was what had made them both so angry, that someone had been there and known all along but refused to say.

Without Stephens' silent gloating Mr Buxton felt less frustrated. And after Robin Walker's his initial rage on finding the boy gone before he was able to question him himself the young gentleman too seemed to be less obsessed with it, he was spending a lot more time with Erminia. His girl had charmed the boy, and the sister was far from his mind.

They still discussed it of course, but not at such length, Robin agreed that they would come back, and that they would deal with it then. They had a very clear plan of what they would do when they did return to the village, the doctor had been informed and he too was prepared for their eventual return.

Now all Mr Buxton did was watch the two youngsters from behind a book or from further behind them walking as their chaperone, sometimes even from the window as they walked in the garden. Seeing his ward so animated and so happy with the young gentleman made him miss Matilda. He realised while watching them what he'd lost through his temper and he wished he could fix it somehow.

* * *

"Have you heard the awful things the Johnsons are saying about Mrs Jameson?" Erminia was saying as the two of them sat in the rose garden.

"Minnie," Robin said her name dryly, "If I have to hear one more old lady story I think my head should explode."

She laughed, "Robin, you're so awful!" she smiled, "I don't know if you're serious half the time!"

"I am serious all the time," he smiled and she blushed and hit him on the arm with her gloves. He caught her wrist and she blushed further and stopped smiling. "Why do you take your gloves off in this weather if you don't want me to kiss your hand?" he asked and he bent and kissed her white hand, she smiled a little and didn't dare look back at the house, he bit her skin and she cried out and pulled her hand away. Robin laughed and Erminia hit him again. "Just a little nip," he said quietly, "to teach you a lesson!"

"Don't," she said seriously, "and not where my uncle can see us!" she stressed.

"Oh, you'd rather go somewhere your uncle can't see us?"

There was a pause as though Erminia was thinking about it. "No," she said primly.

"All right then," Robin smiled and they said nothing for a moment and he could see the cogs in her head turning, she was regretting her answer, at least, she did not like that he had given up so easily. "Your uncle seems unhappy," he said changing the subject.

"He is lonely," she said, "before you came to live here there was no one for me to speak to, so I spoke to him."

"Oh yes?" Robin raised an eyebrow, "like my sister speaks to old men?"

"Don't be so vulgar!" Minnie said angrily, "he is my uncle!"

"That is not so bad," he told her, "besides, you are not related by blood."

"Robin!" she said his name rather desperately, she wanted him to drop it. "My uncle is lonely, he had Miss Matty Jenkyns to speak to but they have not spoken in a few weeks, since- since what happened with Harry," she said quietly and she looked away.

"I know you used to _speak_ to him as well," Robin stressed and he grinned at her, "that dirty little wretch!"

"Robin, don't!" she said angrily. "You do this every time I mention him!" Erminia stood up and walked away, Robin followed.

"I'm sorry, Minnie," Robin said as he followed her through the garden, "I'm jealous, you know that's what it is."

Erminia looked up at him, "there's nothing to be jealous about," she stressed.

He looked about him and smiled, she had stormed off into a quiet corner of the garden, they were surrounded by oak trees, he pulled her behind one with him and kissed her. Erminia kissed back and he looked down at her and smiled. She looked back, flushed and embarrassed but she smiled a little in surprise.

"Do you like me, Minnie?" he asked and she nodded, "then give me another kiss."

She looked around, she was shocked and amazed that they'd been able to have their first kiss without being seen.

"I- I'm not sure we should, my uncle-"

He pulled her again and kissed her a second time, this time Erminia pulled out of his grasp. She didn't shout at him but she gave him a serious look. "Don't!" she hissed quietly. "I'm going back inside. Are you coming or not?"

"I will go wherever you go," he told her with a smile. Erminia looked back, she wanted to smile, but something stopped her, he hadn't apologised.

"Say you're sorry," she cleared her throat and stopped him in his tracks.

He looked up at her, "whatever for?"

She flashed her eyes, "say you're sorry, or I shan't walk with you any more."

"I'm sorry," he smiled, "but you know you will."

Erminia smiled at him and they began to walk back up to the house. She was talking about what Mrs Jameson had to say about Miss Pole's new hat now and Robin was listening silently and smiling at her.

Harry Stephens watched them from behind the trees. He had not liked what he had heard. He had not liked the young man's behaviour. Any further than that second kiss and he had been ready to make himself known. The worst part was that Erminia didn't know what sort of danger she was in, she hadn't even seemed uncomfortable with Walker's behaviour. Why was she never to meet nice young men, only Mr Buxton's son had been proper and even then the two of them had been playmates, like little children, did she think that men were supposed to act like fools?

* * *

Robin was bored of it now. How many weeks would he have to wait before he could steal another kiss. And kissing wasn't what he wanted. He followed Erminia around like a good faithful dog, when was she to reward him?

He sat in their drawing room while Erminia bored her uncle with the same gossip she had been boring him with, he looked around and wondered what he could do to spark something different in their routine. Erminia was speaking about something else now, she had moved to her guardian and she was speaking kindly to him. Robin let his mind run away with him for a second and he wondered if perhaps the old man had had his way with the girl, he raised an eyebrow and thought on it for a few moments before Erminia's words to her uncle hit him.

"Uncle, you are so sad, please won't you at least write to Miss Matty?"

"My dear, she'd never take me back, I have been appalling to her."

"You haven't," she stressed, "we know it," she looked at Robin for help, "we three know it is only this unfortunate circumstance that has led to the two of you drifting apart. If Mr Jenkyns had not left then you would be happy with Miss Matty by now, isn't that right, Mr Walker?" she looked to Robin.

"That is exactly right," he agreed and he stood up. "Mr Buxton, if you'll forgive me saying, I do not think any of this unhappiness you find yourself in would have occurred without my sister doing what she has done. She does not realise I imagine, how many people her impulsiveness has affected. You must forget it," he told them and they both looked at him, it was a statement that seemed extremely out of character, "Forget it, we know what we are to do should my sister ever return. But we cannot let our lives all stop and wait for that. You must- no, we all must go to Miss Jenkyns' and you must reconcile your friendship."

Mr Buxton looked at Robin, his ward stood up and smiled at the boy, she touched his hands and then let go of them again and looked at her uncle. "He's right, is he not?" she asked quietly. "Our happiness should not stop, Miss Matty must be allowed some happiness in her life. You are that happiness, Uncle."

"Well," Mr Buxton stood and smiled but looked down at his desk, "I don't know about that, but, well," he paused and said sincerely, "thank you, thank you both," he looked up at Robin and smiled, "You seem to have lots of great plans, young man!"

Robin said nothing but thought only of his great plans.

* * *

The three of them walked to the village, the two young people on either side of Mr Buxton, both speaking to him supportively of what he might say to Miss Matty. When they reached the village however Robin stopped and looked ahead to the Jenkyns' home.

"I- I'm afraid I do not think I should come with you," he said quietly, "I have never been inside their home, I know it is a home where my sister spent a lot of time, it might be strange for Miss Jenkyns to have to welcome me.

"Robin!" Erminia said in concern, then blushed and said, "Mr Walker, you must come, we are all to come and speak to Miss Matty."

"Do you really think I should be there, while your uncle mends the heart of his fiancée?"

"Oh!" said Erminia in surprise, "No, I should not even be there!" she looked at her preoccupied guardian. "Should we wait outside?" she asked him.

"No, we mustn't clutter up the garden," Robin spoke, "besides we don't know how long this might take."

"You two should take a walk," Mr Buxton said, "visit your mother," he suggested.

"Oh, yes," Erminia said excitedly, "I should like that," she looked up at Robin.

"My mother takes her constitutional on Monday afternoons, I expect she's on the tops as we speak. We could go to the house and wait for her?" he suggested.

"No, let's go and meet her," Erminia suggested, "that would be fine, wouldn't it, Uncle?" she looked to the older man and he smiled and nodded.

"Yes, yes, that sounds like a good plan."

"Good luck with your plan, sir," Robin said and he raised his hat a little and Mt Buxton smiled in thanks. "It will all go perfectly."

"Thank you, Robin," he said and he looked at Erminia, "you two don't stay up there too long, it's rather windy this time of year."

Mr Buxton walked to Matilda Jenkyns' house alone and he felt nervous, what was he to say to win back the affection he had taken months, almost a year, to earn? Matty would never take him back, what was he doing there?

Matty opened the door and saw him there. "Matilda," he spoke as he looked at her, "I- I've come to apologise, for my behaviour."

She smiled at him and covered her mouth with a hand, "Come in," she said quietly and she smiled still, "come in and have a cup of tea."


	21. Chapter 20: Robin

Chapter Twenty: Robin

"I am with you," Peter said softly and he held his wife's hand as the carriage turned into Cranford. They had not spoken for the last half hour of the journey and she had taken to looking out of the window silently, her knuckles tense and white in her lap. Amelia's fingers flexed at his and she squeezed his hand anxiously but appreciatively.

"This is fine, stop here," Peter leant forwards and spoke through the window to the man who had been driving them for the last couple of hours. He nodded and brought his horses to a stop outside of Miss Matty's house.

"I don't want to get out," Amelia said quietly and Peter looked down at her sympathetically.

"You don't have to," he told her and he touched her face gently, she leant into his palm and raised her hands to his.

"But I don't want you to leave me here," she whispered and smiled nervously at his kind face, a small flicker of a smile before her look turned back to nerves.

"Then you must come with me," he offered the obvious solution and raised his eyebrows and smiled softly she nodded.

"Hold my hand," she said quietly and he nodded.

"Of course."

Peter opened the door of the carriage and stepped out a little awkwardly with Amelia holding his hand still. He helped her out and he spoke to their driver, "stay here a moment," he said quietly, "we may need you," he took an assortment of coins from his pocket and handed them to the man who nodded gratefully and sat steadfast in his high seat holding his horses' reigns.

"Peter!" Miss Matty had emerged from her house and was staring at her brother, grateful tears welled in her eyes. She had reconciled with her fiancé over the past half hour and now it was a miracle, she was to reconcile with her brother. All was to be well and right again. She moved down her garden path to him but she stopped before she reached him and looked down to Amelia, she could not help smiling in relief at seeing her safe too. "Miss Amelia," she said quietly and warmly and the girl shook her head.

"I- I am just Amelia now," she corrected with shaky breaths and she smiled and let go of her husband's hand to move forwards and embrace the older woman. Amelia put her arms around her and smiled in relief as her hug was returned and Miss Matty held her tightly.

"You silly girl," Matty said affectionately. "I can't believe you've been gone so long."

"I'm sorry," Amelia admitted quietly and she let go of Matty gently, reluctantly and took her hands instead.

"Oh, there it is," Matty said in quiet excitement as she looked down at her mother's ring on the girl's finger, "It suits you," she said quietly and she looked up at her brother who stood next to them both and she let go of Amelia and put her arms around him too. "Stupid man," she said angrily, but with no real malice behind it and she put her hands on his chest and then let go of him, "I was so worried, about both of you."

"Forgive us, Matilda," Peter said softly and he touched Amelia's arm softly, she took his hand again gratefully and he held it tightly.

Amelia felt her heart beating fast in her chest as her sister-in-law spoke to them as warmly and kindly as ever she had before. Peter had been right, things in Cranford were just as they should be, their friends were still their friends and all was well. She beamed in relief and felt her face flush as she looked at Miss Matty's teary face, smiling in her own relief, Amelia felt the colour at last return to her cheeks and she loosened her grip on her husband's hand feeling that she did not need to hold it so tightly any more.

"I think there's someone you need to apologise to, young lady," Mr Buxton appeared in the doorway raising an eyebrow and looking at Amelia. The sight of him made her jump a little but she remembered how he had helped them elope and she moved nearer to him and wanted to thank him for all the trouble he had gone to, all the trouble they had left him to deal with.

"I'm sorry, Mr Buxton," Amelia said automatically and she opened her mouth to continue but he raised a hand and moved towards her.

"I'm speaking about your mother," he stressed and he motioned again and Amelia looked around to see her mother standing at the open gate, she was alone, dressed in black and pale.

"Mother," Amelia spoke quietly and she looked at her from where she stood in the garden. She was as she had been. As she had been when she had first helped Amelia escape from her brother, as she had been when she seemed to see the truth, she looked solemn and she looked sorry. Amelia put her hands out and reached for her mother, her heart beating painfully she wanted to apologise and she wanted to burst into grateful tears realising that her mother had chosen to stay in Cranford and wait for her daughter's return rather than leave with her wicked son. She had chosen her. Her mother had chosen her.

"I- I'm so sorry," Amelia said quietly, "I never- never wanted to hurt you."

Her mother smiled up at her and Amelia breathed a huge sigh of relief and felt the corners of her mouth hurt as she smiled and cried while her mother put her arms around her. It was not something she had dared dream for while she had been away but now that it was happening, now that she was in her repentant mother's arms Amelia felt such happiness, such love for the woman who held her.

"Darling, we've been so worried," her mother spoke softly and Amelia nodded and then looked up and swallowed nervously, her mother looked up at her, her smile did not seem right somehow.

"You- you have been worried?" she glanced at the people around her, Miss Matty's face was still teary but she no longer smiled. Neither did Mr Buxton.

"Your brother and I," Mrs Walker said still softly and Amelia pulled away from her mother.

"He- he is still here?" She spoke in disbelief as she looked at her parent.

"Of course he is," Mrs Walker said a little harshly and she looked at her daughter and blushed a little as she saw the onlookers.

Amelia felt her heart break.

"Where- where is he?" Peter asked. He had been watching everything silently, letting the reconciliation happen without question for Amelia's sake but now he looked seriously at her mother.

"How dare you speak to me," Mrs Walker spat but Mr Buxton answered, he didn't want Mrs Walker's anger to ruin the plan he and Robin Walker had devised, it was an important part of the plan to be calm and have Amelia stay calm.

"He's at your mother's house, with Miss Erminia," Mr Buxton spoke kindly to Amelia and tried to calm her mother too, "I presume they met you on your walk, Mrs Walker?"

"I cannot abide walking," Mrs Walker said, "I came out when I heard the carriage."

"Your son said you walk on Mondays," Mr Buxton's brow furrowed now and he joined the Walkers at the gate but the older woman just raised an eyebrow and shook her head flippantly.

Amelia stared at her mother and breathed in painfully, her throat cracked and seemed to make a horrible sound the others looked at her as she found her voice again. "You- you let them walk alone?" Amelia said dangerously, this time she spoke to Mr Buxton.

"Well," Mr Buxton spoke, "never- never before today," he admitted with a shrug and Amelia moved quickly away from her mother and to the old man, "Where? Where does she walk?" She asked quickly, "Tell me," she stressed and she grabbed his hand, Mr Buxton looked down at her in shock, the girl was manic just as her brother had said she would be but somehow the fear in her eyes and in her strange voice made him blurt out the answer.

"Why, the tops, she walks on the tops," he said and Amelia let go of him and moved past the crowd, Peter tried to touch her arm and stop her but she pulled her arm out of his hand angrily, frantically and she moved to the gate and past her mother.

"That is rich coming from you, Amelia," her mother said angrily and quickly, "I have never seen you with a chaperone."

"How could you do this to her?" Amelia spat angrily and the tears were already falling from her face as she looked at her mother, "how- how could you?" she shook her head, "I- I have to find them," she said quietly, more to herself than to her audience, she moved past her mother and the carriage and she ran as she looked ahead of her at the road and gathered her skirts in her arms.

Mr Buxton stood transfixed watching the girl leave, he had planned to restrain her if she did anything wild. It had been going so well he'd thought it wouldn't be necessary, that they'd all have tea and wait for the doctor and then they could explain to Amelia indoors what was going to happen next. But she had snapped as Robin had said she might. Mr Buxton had been prepared for it, prepared for her to start screaming or become violent, not prepared for this strange concern though. She seemed to think Erminia was in danger, and that thought had upset her greatly.

"I- I don't understand," Miss Matty started to say and she looked up to her brother who had moved too and gone to the carriage and his bags, the driver handed them down to him and he searched frantically.

"I assume she has been like this since you stole her away from me?" Mrs Walker said angrily down to him as Peter pulled books and clothes from his bags and continued to search, he looked up angrily at her and then stood tall and looked down.

"Your daughter is remarkably brave considering what you have subjected her to."

"How dare you!" Mrs Walker said affronted and Matty spoke too.

"Peter!" she said in shock and embarrassment.

"What- what does she mean, Peter?" Mr Buxton spoke anxiously as he looked down at Peter's open bags and their contents all over the road. "Where has she gone?"

"She- she has gone to stop him, to stop him hurting your niece," Peter looked back into his bag and saw what he was looking for, he took out the handgun, "And now I must go too," he looked up at his friend briefly and then turned and broke into a run.

"She's a liar!" Mrs Walker called out after them and Matty watched as the other woman kicked Peter's belongings furiously and then started to cry, she tried to touch her gently but she shrugged her off aggressively. "Keep your hands off me!" she spat and she moved away from the Jenkyns' home still fuming and shaking her head as the tears fell from her eyes.

"Oh," Matty whispered in horror, "What- what are we to do, Jonathan?" but when she looked her fiancé was gone too, "Jonathan?" she asked nervously and she held her hands to her face as she felt faint.

* * *

"Don't!" Amelia could hear Erminia, she could hear the sweet girl's screams carrying over the hill, if it was happening it was still happening, she could still come between them, still give Erminia a little of the hope that she had never been given, that someone was trying to protect her. Save her, that was what she must do, that was her mission now, to stop it happening, to stop a life being ruined, if she could stop it then it would be fair, life would be fair again. She had been running for only eight minutes before she started to hear them, eight minutes without breathing, without thinking, without feeling anything. Only running to help her friend, to try and save her.

"Don't hurt him!" Erminia sobbed, "get off him," she pulled at Robin's hair and he let go of the stable boy briefly and pushed her away, he held the red-headed boy down with his knees and scrambled in the dirt for a weapon of some kind, as his hands gripped at a large rock Erminia launched herself again and knocked him off the boy. Robin surprised at being knocked about by the girl grinned, grabbed her and pinned her down on the floor.

"I told you to be nice," he said through gritted teeth and he put his hands around her neck, glanced over his shoulder at the boy who had staggered to his knees and was now trying to pull him off her.

Robin got to his feet and watched Harry Stephens, the boy in Mr Buxton's employment who had never let him out of his sight since his first visit to the Old Hall, move to Erminia and try to help her to her feet while she sobbed in terror, Robin laughed and kicked the boy's chest sending him crashing to the ground again.

The boy had come out of nowhere as soon as Erminia had started to panic, he hadn't managed anything but a few kisses as they'd sat waiting at the crossroads high on the tops for his hermit mother to come back from her fictitious walk. The weather had been so bad he knew no one would be mad enough to walk today, it was thanks to the cold weather he'd managed to get so close to Erminia too, she had wanted his arms around her.

"No," Erminia whimpered again, "No, please, don't do anymore," she moved to Harry and put her arms around him as he lay wheezing in the dirt. "No, I- I'll do what you say," she looked up at him as he grinned down at them out of breath from the thrill he got from beating and humiliating them.

Harry had made himself known as soon as Robin had started to hold onto her too tightly, as soon as she'd really started to panic. He'd been following them as they walked and Erminia had been so grateful to see him, so relieved and now she was so horrified at what was happening. She hadn't thought they'd fight. She'd thought the sight of someone else, a witness, would be enough to stop him from doing anything to her. No, he did not stop, he did not fear anyone and now Harry, her dear lost friend, his asthma destroying him, was not able to stop anything.

"I can't do that," he said and shook his head calmly though he still breathed raggedly between sentences, "No one will miss this peasant," he said and he tried to push Erminia away with his boot, she held on fast and did not move though his shoe scraped against her cheek. "Move out of my way, Minnie," He said dangerously, "or I shall have to hurt you."

"You will hurt me anyway," she spat and she breathed painfully and could not help crying.

"Very true," he agreed and he turned and looked on the ground again for the large rock he had found moments earlier, he pulled it with a little difficulty from the ground, Erminia looked down at her friend and touched his hair gently. He wasn't breathing right, he'd told her about his problems before, why her uncle had been his saviour, taking him from the mills which took away his breath and bringing him into the countryside to work with animals. She stood up shakily and with all her might she brought her fists down on the back of Robin Walker's neck, it shocked him a little but it was not even enough to send him down, he dropped the rock and turned and grabbed her wrists.

"Stupid girl," he said dangerously and he straightened a little and pulled her hands down painfully, "I might just take you up on your offer, before I dispose of our asthmatic witness," he grinned and looked at Harry on the ground behind her, "if we're lucky God might just do it for us."

"Robin!" Amelia screamed his name and he wheeled around and looked at her, a manic glint in his eye.

"My sister, come to save you, look!" he said to Erminia and she looked up in hope at Amelia who stood metres away from them and stared. Her hair was wild and she looked pale, but she was not the timid girl Erminia had remembered. She stood tall and brave. "I wonder how much better than the stable boy she will do, what do you think?"

"Get- get help!" Erminia managed to shout but Robin twisted her wrists painfully and she cried out and slid down to the ground.

"Robin, let her go," Amelia said angrily, "I- I will not let you hurt her."

"Is that right?" Robin smiled and he let go of Erminia and looked down at his captive, "You know you cannot out run me," he spoke softly, "don't bother trying."

"I will not leave him here for you to kill!" Erminia hissed back and she stayed still on the floor watching Amelia come closer.

"Amelia, get out of here," she cried out and Robin slapped her hard across the face.

"This is a family matter," he said down to her. "I can assume accurately," Robin spoke to his sister, "that you are on your own, that the mass of ancients who are attempting to follow you in their bath chairs and whatnot will be delayed long enough for me to persuade you both that it was this filthy Northern boy who tried to attack Miss Erminia." He looked at Erminia, "How would you like to be killed instead, Erminia? They shall all believe that it was your beloved stable boy here, they will believe me," he insisted dangerously.

"My uncle shall believe Amelia! Do you propose to kill your own sister?"

"Amelia's word is not to be trusted, hasn't your uncle told you that? He has it on good authority, medical authority. Do you hear that, sister?" he called out and smiled, "You are to be committed, and all your friends know that you are mad! How was your Honeymoon by the way, Amelia?" he grinned as she moved still closer to him. "Let him touch you, did you? In all the places you've been touched before, all the many places," he smiled.

Amelia stood in front of him, as tall and thin as him, not nearly as strong.

"You- you should have gone," Erminia looked up at her and this time Robin did nothing to silence her, he kept his eyes fixed on his sister.

Amelia didn't look at her, she lunged forwards and put her thumbs in her brother's eyes, he pulled her hands away from him with a little difficulty but he laughed at the insanity of it all, he swore loudly as Erminia suddenly bit his leg hard, he pushed his sister to the ground roughly and then pulled Erminia's hair with a jerk away from him and punched her face, "Little bitch," he said looking down at her and he grabbed Amelia's arm as she pulled the rock from the ground and heaved it at him, he moved out of its path and it landed with a thump on the ground again. "And another," he said angrily and he pulled his sister away from Erminia who was now unconscious on the ground. "Now I have you," he grinned and he pulled Amelia's arms behind her back, "what is this?" he laughed and pulled the wedding ring off her finger and flung it down into the mud, "you disgusting whore," he hissed, "fucking that old man for worthless trinkets."

Amelia pulled at his grasp but couldn't fight him off. "You think you are saving your bitch friend from me in this selfless little act?" he smiled and pushed her down onto the muddy ground, kicking the backs of her legs out from under her, "I have persuaded this village that you are mad, Amelia, I am the toast of the town, apparently I am to marry Erminia, so she is to be mine and I shall do with her what I see fit."

"She will never marry you," Amelia spat and she looked over her shoulder at him, "her uncle is not an idiot."

" You really think I'm going to marry her!" he laughed and shook his head, "Priceless! Anyway, I disagree," Robin said calmly, "Buxton was easily won over, it is he who has arranged the doctor to pick you up the moment you show your pretty little mad head." He laughed a little, "but do not worry, Amelia, I will come and visit you often, they might even let me take you on long walks in the country, just the two of us, won't that be nice?"

Amelia felt the movement in the ground, at first she thought it was her own heart beating, but it grew louder and louder and it felt like an earthquake.

"At last you are here," Robin said in relief and Amelia listened to him begin to act innocently, she looked up to see who had arrived, "I was about to bring her back to you but my sister arrived to cause so much trouble."

Amelia looked up in desperation at Mr Buxton who sat on horseback a few metres away from them was he really on Robin's side? Was he really to have her committed? She did not feel despair at the thought, not for herself, she did not matter, she realised as she glanced behind her, if they were all under her brother's spell there was at least one thing she could still do. "Ask her, ask Erminia!" Amelia cried out and Robin shook his head and smiled down at her.

"Your ward is not in a state to answer questions, she fainted away when this uneducated lout tried to attack us, see she lies still in the soft grass." Robin motioned to where Erminia lay but he looked in horror as the waif he had beaten to the ground sat and pointed to her attacker.

"He- it was him!" she cried and Robin looked from the girl to her guardian and then let go of Amelia and moved towards the old man on the horse.

"You forget, ladies," he spat, "I am not an old man, and I am not afraid of one."

Amelia got to her feet and ran after her brother but she was stopped by the shot. The loud crack went right through her and her brother, only feet in front of her, fell back and brought her down with him.

She heard the carriage-horse whinny as the ringing in her ears subsided and her brother clawed at her skirts, "Amelia?" he asked for her in a small voice and looked up at her face as she scrambled out from under his heavy body, pushing his hands away. "Sister, tell me I am forgiven," he said calmly as the blood seeped across his blue waistcoat. "You brother dies," he implored in a look up at her.

Amelia spat on him as she got to her feet, "My brother died ten years ago."

She moved quickly to Erminia and her guardian, wanting to be away from him, she watched the older man pick up the shivering girl, he lifted her to her feet and held onto her tightly. The girl cried painfully with relief in the arms of the man who loved her truly and she opened her eyes to look up at the friend who had saved her, "Amelia," she said her name and let go of her guardian and embraced her friend.

"He- he did not touch you?" Amelia asked anxiously and the girl shook her head.

"No, no he- Harry stopped him, and you- you stopped him," she added, "oh poor Harry," she said quickly and she moved and looked down and let go of her friend.

"My- my girl," Mr Buxton said painfully and he rubbed his brow with shaking fingers, "I- I cannot believe how close-" he stopped and looked away from where his ward tended to the stable boy, he instead looked at the young woman by his side, he handed her the gun. "It- it is your husband's," he told her. Amelia looked down at it but didn't take it, "He- he told me what a monster I have just killed, told me what he did to you."

Amelia looked up at him, "I'm glad you believed him," she said quietly and she moved away from him and down to Erminia's side, she put her hand to Harry's face gently, "he is breathing," she assured her friend, "he will need to be looked after."

Erminia nodded sadly still crying silently and she looked at Amelia's pale face and briefly up at her hair, "I- I believe I know the cause of this now," she said quietly and she reached and touched Amelia's hair, Amelia took her hand and held it in both of hers, she kissed it and smiled a little shakily, "It shall never happen to you," she whispered, "I promise."

"Amelia?"

She looked up from Erminia and she saw Peter Jenkyns standing on the path, he looked down at the body with distaste but stooped and picked something from the ground before looking at the party in concern. Amelia let go of Erminia's hand and stood up, she ran to her husband and put her arms around him, Peter held her tightly and looked down at her, he held up the green and gold band and she took it gratefully from him, and put it back on.

"I thought it was lost," she whispered in relief.

Peter brought his hands up to her face, "You- you are all right?" he asked nervously. "I- I cannot run like you can," he said painfully.

She smiled at him with tears in her eyes, her wonderful husband, she had not let herself think of him as she had run to Erminia's rescue, she did not like to think of what might have happened had she not succeeded, she would never have seen him again, looking up at his lovely handsome caring face she knew that that would have been the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

"I am all right, and so is Erminia," she said quietly, "thanks to you," she held onto him tightly, "Mr Buxton killed him," she whispered, "It- it is over now."

"My Darling," he whispered softly in his deep gravely voice pressing his face against her hair, "my Amelia, you are so brave, I love you."

"I love you, Peter," she moved her face from his chest and looked up at him.

He leant and kissed her, she kissed back gratefully in relief and put her arms up around his neck.


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue

Two months later they had all gone. Amelia routinely brought her husband their letters in bed and they wondered every day if they would yet have a card or a letter from Mrs Matty Buxton, her husband and their ward. They had left for the South of France soon after marrying, where the weather was mild and the seas spectacular. Erminia had gone with them on their extended Honeymoon, she would see the world with her family not on her own as she originally planned to do, she did not feel alone with her father-figure and his new bride even when they were absorbed in each other, she could always speak to Harry who had gone with them, promoted by his employer and able to take the warm country air that France had to offer.

Though they had not told the people of Cranford the entire truth of what happened on the tops, they had been told that Robin Walker had been shot by Mr Buxton after attempting to attack his ward and that Amelia had known it to happen because it had happened before. That was why she had gone from Cranford to marry Peter Jenkyns, to escape the embarrassment of having her husband know she had a brother who did not know right from wrong. It was why she and her mother had moved to Cranford in the first place, Robin had been placed in the care of doctors after trying to hurt another girl but he had been released and his mother believed he was cured.

Mrs Walker had listened to her daughter and her friends tell her that her son was dead but she would not believe them and she denied everything that Amelia tried to speak calmly about. It was only when she saw her son's body that she seemed to face reality for a short time, she wept and apologised to her daughter, asked her to apologise to Miss Whyte and asked if she could ever be forgiven. It was obvious why she had preferred to ignore her son's cruelty; the same reason she had ignored it in his father, because she had loved him.

Amelia did not stay with her mother after it had happened but she visited her daily, spent hours with her, but after that first acknowledgement Mrs Walker stopped talking and stopped eating and on the third day Amelia called her mother had died. And though Amelia's husband would have taken some small satisfaction believing it was from shame he knew that it was from grief.

After her mother died Amelia was able to take what was hers from the house and move what little she had into the Jenkyns' where she now lived. In her mother's desk she found the portrait Peter had painted those months previously, she had assumed her mother would have destroyed it after her betrayal. She cried a little at finding it and wondered if she had been too harsh on her mother in the end, she had kept it despite seeming to hate her daughter so much, perhaps she had hated Amelia only as much as she had believed in her son; she had known in her heart that she was wrong.

When Miss Matty married there was a large reception at the Old Hall, by this time the ladies of Cranford were gossiping only about Miss Matty's future and of course her pretty dress. Amelia had been welcomed into the group as though she had never been gone and always been their close friend but at the wedding she had met new people; Mr Buxton's handsome son and his sweet quiet wife. They had a new baby who had been extremely well behaved throughout the ceremony but was less well behaved among the crowds of old women trying to get their hands on him. Young Mrs Buxton had handed the baby to Amelia and Erminia rather than the old women as she escaped to dance with her curly haired husband and both girls had delighted in the sweet thing. Erminia had teased Amelia a little as she smiled down at her first experience with babies, asked her if she and her husband had plans to bring any new lives into the world. Amelia had raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes at her friend but she had looked across the room at her husband and wondered if they would be able to raise a family.

When they returned home alone, without Miss Matty for the first time since aeons ago when Amelia had broken into the house and confessed her love to him, Peter spoke to his wife seriously.

"I saw you with Mr Buxton's grandson," he said quietly and Amelia nodded as they walked up the stairs. He took his jacket off and put it down on their bed before sitting down. Amelia stood in front of him and unbuttoned his waistcoat she loosened his tie before taking it off and she smiled down at him and pushed her hands gently through his hair. "Do you want one?" he asked her.

Amelia grinned and laughed a little, "a grandson?" she smiled and he smiled a little and raised his eyebrows.

"A baby," he laughed at her and she blushed.

"I don't know," she said quietly and she took his waistcoat from him and folded it in her arms.

"Maybe it might stop you mothering me so much," he suggested and he took the waistcoat from her hands and put it down on the bed. She giggled and sat down next to him. "Just think," he said quietly and he nudged her elbow, she nudged back and looked up at him, "nine months from tonight, you could have a little somebody else to look after. I'm sure you'll be sick of me by then," he said flippantly.

"I'll never be sick of you," she smiled and she looked up at him, "what do you mean, nine months from tonight?"

"What do you think I mean?" he asked her.

Amelia leant up and kissed him, he kissed back gently and put his hand up to touch her face, "You mean it, Peter?" she asked in a whisper, "do you really mean it?"

"If you want us to," he said gently and she smiled up at him and put her arms around him, she kissed him again.

"Yes, yes please," she sighed and still kissed his lips, "you- you are not scared that I- that I am not ready."

"I think that is over," he said softly, "I- I know it is what you have wanted, for a long long time only, only I couldn't. I couldn't until I was ready, Amelia."

"Oh, Peter, Peter, thank you," she pulled at his shirt as she kissed him and she climbed onto his lap. He laughed a little and held onto her.

"Hold on, hold on," he smiled and she blushed, breathing heavily as she sat on his lap, "let's at least get that dress off you," he offered with a smile and she reluctantly climbed off him and onto the floor. "Impatient girl, sitting on the edge of our bed with our clothes on, how romantic," he said in his deep rumbling voice and Amelia shivered as he stood up and began to unlace the back of her dress, "don't you want me to take my time?" he asked gently and he kissed her neck softly and moved his hands gently up her sides and in front of her to her chest, he squeezed her softly through the dress and Amelia leant back against him weakly and smiled.

"I love you," she sighed contentedly as his hands returned to her back and he peeled the dark blue silk away from her, she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and pushed the fabric away from her, he pushed it down off her waist and she stepped out of it. He picked it up and put it on the chest at the foot of the bed, he moved his clothes from the bed and put them on top of her things before he took her in his arms again and kissed her. Amelia held onto him tightly as he pushed his fingers softly up and down her warm back, she shivered and smiled at his mouth, pressing her nose against him weakly. "It's cold," she whispered, "we should get in the bed,"

"Of course," he said softly and he took off his shirt and kicked his shoes off as she too bent and unlaced her shoes and pulled her stockings and underwear down. She climbed onto the bed but did not get in, instead she lit the candles on their bedside tables. "Must we have so much light?" he asked rather resentfully as he sat removing his socks.

"I want to see you, Peter," she smiled at him and he looked at her and smiled back.

"Do you have to sit there and watch?" he asked and she grinned but he raised his eyebrows, "can't you see me when I am in the bed?"

"That's no fun," she said quietly but she pulled back the covers on his side so that he could get in when he was undressed, she stayed sat on the covers, naked and she unpinned her hair as she watched him take off his trousers and his underwear, Amelia blushed and looked away from him as he got into the bed and sat up against the tall piles of pillows they had for sitting and reading each night.

"You still can't look, you shy little thing," he said to her and she hit his arm and looked up at his face, he smiled at her as she kept her hand on his pale arm, she moved it to his chest and she stroked his skin appreciatively as she had done lots of times, "come here," he said gently and he put his hands up through her hair and they kissed each other as Amelia got into the bed with him.

Peter kissed her as her fingers and palms scraped gently over his chest and shoulders, she pushed her hands down his arms and up again as she leant her body up against him, "I love you," he said softly as he pushed his hands firmly down her back and over her warm sides. "Come, sit on my lap," he said softly and she shivered under his hands and climbed up onto him and sat on his lap, her legs either side of him.

Amelia felt his body against her, felt the heat between them from both of them and she shivered and touched his hair softly, Peter touched her breasts gently, pulled her up and put his face against her chest, held her tightly up against him as he kissed and rubbed at her sensitive skin with his mouth and nose while she held her fingers deep in his thick white hair and she sighed and shivered against him.

"Soft, pure girl," he breathed softly against her body and he let go of her a little, let her slip back down to sit on his lap while he kissed her shoulder and arm gently, he stroked her skin still softly with his hands and she held onto him, her hands firmly on his sides, her fingers flexing at his skin. "Are you warm enough?" he asked her, the blankets had slipped down as they moved against each other in the bed, they now covered his legs and Amelia only from the ankles.

"It- it is only usually my feet that get cold anyway." She said softly and he reached for her small feet down by his sides and he squeezed them before bringing his hands firmly up her legs and rubbing them warm.

"Do you want a baby, Amelia?" he asked her softly and he put a hand between them and he touched her gently, she shivered and twitched against him in surprise that his fingers now teased her, "because we can still do this, and not have a baby," he told her.

"Peter," she whispered and she moved her hand down between them too, touched his wrist softly but moved her fingers beneath it and touched him as he had allowed her to do before. "I- I do want to have your baby," she whispered, he leant up and kissed her face, let go of her though she still stroked him between their legs, he touched her hair and kissed her.

He swallowed and breathed a little differently as she still touched him, "I-I thought so," he said knowingly. She kissed him deeply and let go of him now he was hard against her, touching her soft white leg, she moved her hands to his face and she touched the back of his neck. "Are you ready, Amelia?" he asked her and she nodded, "lean up, here, this way it is you, it is all you," he said gently as he pushed her up a little and she leant on her knees on the bed, he put his hand beneath her and positioned himself, rubbed himself gently against her soft wet skin, she shivered and looked down at his face as she breathed deeply through her nose. He pressed against her and she shivered and lowered herself down onto him. Peter breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes feeling her warmth all around him as she took all of him and sat down heavily on his lap.

"Do you like it?" she whispered and her fingers moved a little at the back of his neck, stroked his hair softly and shakily.

"Yes," he admitted and he opened his eyes to see her face, she smiled at him and leant down to kiss him softly, he stroked her hips and back very gently, he did not want to ask her if she liked it so he pushed his fingers against her skin between them and tickled her gently. She shivered and he felt her muscles around him squeeze a little as she smiled a small smile.

Amelia moved against his gentle fingers and rubbed her body against him, he sighed again and his fingers at her hip gripped appreciatively at her skin and she understood without him asking her or telling her to do anything, what he would enjoy. She moved her hands to his shoulders and she steadied herself as she began to move on top of him, she moved up and down on his body and rubbed herself against him. It began to feel comfortable and natural and exciting as she made love to him, the feeling she had felt so many times from his fingers or his mouth rubbing gently at her seemed to be deeper inside her, much deeper, and he was touching it, rubbing against her when she moved up and down him.

She breathed shakily and reached for his hands, took the hand that rubbed her softly and put it up on her hip opposite the other that rubbed at her other side. "Hold onto me," she whispered to him and he held her tightly, helped move her as she weakened, she put her hands up in his hair once more and leant forwards breathing shakily as she found it helped the feeling, "I like it," she whispered against his mouth and she kissed him, he kissed back deeply and rubbed and gripped at her soft young skin closely.

They moved against one another, speeding up and slowing down, kissing at each other's mouths and breathing deeply. Amelia wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and listened to his breathing against her face, it was so harsh, so different to all the times he had stayed in control and done things only for her, even the times he had let her touch him it was different, but she was not scared of him, she loved him. She felt so happy that he was at last allowing himself to be with her fully, physically it was a wonderful feeling but emotionally it was all she had ever wanted, she kissed at his skin weakly and whimpered as she felt what only he could bring out in her.

"Amelia," he breathed her name, and she pressed her nose against him and breathed so deeply that she was no longer silent, she made satisfied noises. She shivered and shuddered and continued to sigh and moan at what they did to one another. "Amelia," he said her name again breathlessly, "I- I love you," he breathed and she shuddered and came to her climax, he felt it, the contracting of her muscles around him and he came inside her and held her tightly as he breathed and leant back against all the pillows.

Amelia stayed still on his lap with his arms tightly around her, she felt his pulse in his neck as she leant against him, his heart was beating fast and the back of his neck was wet with warm sweat. She sat up a little on him as he loosened his grip on her and she looked down at his handsome face, he had his eyes closed and he breathed deeply, she kissed his cheek gently and stroked his fringe away from his dark eyebrows.

"You're so lovely," she said softly and he opened the large brown eyes and looked up at her.

"Amelia," he sighed her name gently, "thank you."

"It is the truth," she said gently and she reached behind him and picked up his nightshirt that lay discarded on the pillows, she unfolded it and put it over his head, "you'll get cold," she said softly.

"Not with you still sitting on me," he said with a smile and he stroked her warm skin softly, she shivered as he got his breath back.

"I- I don't want to get off," she whispered and she rubbed herself against him still, he shivered at the feeling and things moved back to their normal place making him gasp and Amelia sigh and giggle with shock and embarrassment, he put his arms through the sleeves and pulled the shirt down a little. Despite the fact they were no longer connected Amelia still did not move from on top of him, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her face against the cool shirt he wore.

"You- you liked it?" he asked nervously.

"I told you I did," she leant against his chest softly, "it was wonderful."

"I did not hurt you?" he said softly and he covered her body with his arms, embracing her softly.

"No," she said quietly, "It- it was just a shock, because, because you are so big, down there," she admitted and Peter allowed himself to smile a little and blush, he kissed her cheek affectionately. "I never really looked, but," she said quietly, "it suits you."

"Suits me?" he smiled and did laugh in surprise this time.

"Your body is long," she said quietly, "and these hands," she reached for one of his hands, "they are elegant, but look how long your fingers are," she smiled and held her hand up to his, her long white tapered fingers were small in his and yet the most elegant hands he had ever seen on a woman. She smiled up at him from his chest and her teeth shone through her smile, "and your head is so big," she grinned.

"How dare you," he smiled down at her. He pulled her a little, "come on," he said gently, "your legs will get numb," Amelia shivered and smiled.

"I should like to stay like this," she whispered.

"You'll freeze, you mad thing," he joked and she hit his chest affectionately and shook her head, she moved and climbed off him reluctantly, he pulled his nightshirt down and found hers for her, she put her arms up and he put it over her head and pulled it down.

"Do you think we made a baby?" she asked him softly as they moved most of the pillows to the floor and they blew out the candles. Peter put his arms around her in the bed and she put her hands up against his chest and pressed her nose to his cheek, "I hope we have to try lots of times," she whispered. Peter laughed a low rumble of a laugh and held her tightly.

"Considering my big head," he said dryly and quietly, "perhaps it would be best for you if you didn't have my baby."

"Peter!" She hit his chest once more and then she rested her face against him. "How did you know?" she whispered, "that- that I wanted a baby," she added.

"Because you are such a loving person," he whispered matter-of-factly and he rubbed her back gently. "And I saw the look in your eye when you were holding that baby tonight," he added, "you wanted to steal it, didn't you?" he smiled and Amelia felt his breath on her face as he laughed, she put her arms around his neck and pushed him down on the bed so she could lie against him.

"I did not," she whispered and he laughed still, she kissed him and he kissed back gently and stroked her hair softly from her face as she leant over him. "I want a baby who looks like you," she said quietly and she kissed him again. "You will be a wonderful father, Peter."

"If not a little old," he said a touch jadedly.

"That is why I am here," she whispered and she looked down in the darkness and smiled tenderly at her husband. "I love you," she whispered and she kissed his lips lightly before lying down against his side, putting her arms around him and closing her eyes contentedly as he too put his arms around her.

The End.


End file.
